


Romance Novels

by whitesilverandmercury



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: ARO LEVI, AU, Aromantic, GRAY-RO LEVI, M/M, NSFW, Past EreJean, Sex, idfk what else to say, like the first scene, past eruri, seattle obv, so nsfw?, there's sex, tw: parent's death, writerly woes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 121,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6843574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitesilverandmercury/pseuds/whitesilverandmercury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The plan was to go to her funeral then do whatever it was that came after funerals. What Eren did not mean to do was get drunk and sleep with Levi Ackerman--his mom's old editor and longtime friend, and the object of the worst crush of his entire adolescence. // “But he’s the great romance queen’s kid,” Erwin said. “He’s probably a hopeless romantic. You better not let him think you’re romantically interested or you’ll break his heart.” // “It's a formula, Levi.” Eren shrugged. “That's all romance is.” // Levi scoffed. “Don’t fucking expect me to suddenly sprout romantic feelings just because you think you’ve fallen in love with me. If you really think so...you have to understand that.” // And maybe romance is just a fancy way of saying: “I’m afraid to let you in.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Masochistic Tango

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter/song pairing **nothing but thieves** | _honey whiskey_
> 
> check out my [patreon](http://www.patreon.com/whitesilverandmercury)! ☆☆

* * *

“Let me buy you a drink or something, it’s the least I can do,” Levi said after the funeral, jacket swung over one shoulder with one hand and the other in his pocket. “Your mom wouldn’t want you just moping around.”

Shot of Jäger. One whiskey, one vodka. Both on the rocks. Two shots of tequila. Lights winking off glass, Levi’s silent laughs, head tipped back, tipsy glow in a catlike sidelong glance, cradling rumble of bar noise—conversation, laughter, cheering, music—

The bedroom door hit the wall a little too hard and Eren laughed, stumbled, grabbed a fistful of Levi’s shirt to keep from tripping over his own two feet.

“Shit,” Levi muttered with that vodka rasp, chuckling to himself as he checked to make sure the doorknob left no damage.

Levi flopped down onto his bed. Or maybe Eren accidentally tripped him. “Sorry,” he blurted, but dissolved into laughter when Levi just smirked and caught him by the wrists and dragged him down with him. Under Levi’s button-down, his skin was so hot and soft—through the crisp, lingering smell of being outside in the dark, smoking outside a bar, after thought of aftershave. _Ohh._ Slow, hungry kisses, graze of teeth, curling tongue. A short, involuntary moan shivered through Eren’s teeth onto Levi’s lower lip. Maybe more an excited sigh with voice than anything else as their bodies moved. Gentle, lazy, distracted grinding, the kind that was more like a side effect of the greedy kisses.

“You know what one of my favorite movie scenes is?” Eren asked, only slurring just a tiny bit as his feet almost got tangled in the sheet he clutched around his body like a cloak, standing at the foot of Levi’s bed. Shirt, somewhere off the side near the nightstand. Pants, too.

“No, I don’t, enlighten me,” Levi hummed in that bored way of his that didn’t really sound bored at all, just cool and mysterious, smirking where he lay on his elbow on the bed in just his shorts.

“‘Erin Brockovich,’” Eren announced, holding out a hand regally. “And she and George have sex, she gets up and acts out her beauty queen speech wrapped in a sheet.”

“Are you going to act out a beauty queen speech?”

Eren lit up in an exaggerated smile, turning in a few circles and waving like royalty. “World peace, drugs and alcohol are bad for you, hungry children, we’re going to have great sex…”

His feet really got tangled and he stumbled to a stop, laughing.

Levi grinned, eyes hooded. “‘Eren’ Brockovich, everyone,” he muttered, and Eren laughed harder because that was so cheesy but really actually funny. Levi held a hand out, stretch of smooth skin up to a bare shoulder, naked chest. Jesus, he was so good-looking. Older, but on that line of hot and handsome. Strong jaw, flashing eyes, a really dangerous calmness about him despite how obviously ready he was to get to the action. Koi tattoo, dancing along his right side as he moved.

“Come here and fulfill your duty, then,” he husked.

Eren dropped the sheet and bounced onto the bed, clambered to straddle him though he wasn’t alone in the effort. Just boxer briefs on boxer briefs, hands on hips, tension of Levi’s middle as he crunched up and their mouths crushed together in a bruising, horny kiss. His fingers dove down under the waistband of Eren’s shorts, just past his tailbone, eager press of palms on his ass.

Eren rolled his hips down as he sat up straight on Levi’s lap, stretched his back a little. His toes curled against Levi’s shins, hands pressed to his chest. His mouth buzzed where Levi’s kisses had left their shape, their heat.

“It’s a great scene,” he gasped, still on the movie. “She and George admit they love each other, off the nose, with a perfectly-written line from Erin, and all this intense emotion. You know what that is? I call it the ‘Point of No Return’ but on a beat sheet it’s the ‘Break into Act Two—’”

Levi ground up his hips. Eren’s fingers twitched on his chest, graze of nails. The feel of Levi fever-hot and hard below dangerously sensitive places sent sparks of drunken delight like fireworks popping under his skin. Thud of his heart that rushed straight down through his gut to his dick.

“Eren,” Levi muttered in that lovely way of his, something between an impatient sigh and a tender whisper. “Stop talking about the movie.” He hooked his thumbs in Eren’s waistband and started peeling him out of his shorts.

“Harder—harder, oh—shit—” 

There was sex and then there was fucking and then there was _fucking_. Jostled, biting kisses, head hung, fingers fisted in the blankets and muscles cramping. Hot, sticky, itchy, throbbing, he was going to feel bruised in the morning for sure—Levi’s breath was balmy on his throat, little bit of nighttime stubble, and he really liked when Eren’s open mouth caught his fingers because every time it did, it made him thrust deeper, and Eren was almost embarrassed of how hard he came but it was _hard_ and God damn, rough sex like this was such fucking release—he needed it right now, he wanted to be torn into, he needed to feel something different from what he’d been feeling the last week, the hospital, the funeral parlor, the wake, exorcise it all—

The electric hum of the apartment heat kicked on overhead.

“We—can’t sleep facing each other,” Eren groaned through his teeth. Hard to talk with your body bouncing. Sore, post-orgasm numb, tingling into the fingertips. “It’s like too—much eye contact or—lights on—”

Levi shut him up with another hard kiss, tongue in his mouth, teeth on his lip. And then he came, too. Pounding so hard, the bed finally squeaked a little like the way Eren’s voice did as he tried to muffle the loud, breathless sounds of sensual overload in Levi’s pillow.

* * *

It was a freak accident.

She was at a friend’s house. An old man suffered an aneurysm while driving and he was already dead by the time his out of control Nissan Titan crashed through the living room wall. The E.R. told Eren his mom didn’t feel a thing—none of the ruptured organs or broken bones. Maybe she didn’t even realize what happened, because she basically died on impact. 

He only threw up three times. Once at Mikasa’s apartment, back from the hospital, because he cried too much. That upset Mikasa. Then the next night because he drank too much. That also upset Mikasa, and Armin, too. The third day, he just wasn’t hungry so he couldn’t keep anything down, and that upset _him_ because he was tired of throwing up.

But by the end of the week, he felt better. _Better_. As an adjective, partly or fully recovered. As a feeling, a weird sort of shorted-out daze.

His mom had always told him not to let feelings drown you by holding your breath below them.

Maybe he was holding his breath.

Eren figured he was just being an adult. When he was younger, he was quicker to irrational emotion. It wasn’t that he didn’t grieve or feel anything. It was just that adults had to keep going. It was what growing up was about.

Nothing he did or felt now would change anything. So what the fuck else was there do to?

The funeral parlor had been one of those turn-of-the-century homes businesses loved to renovate into law firms or dentist offices, perched on a little rise of land overlooking the neighborhood that sloped downwards towards the water. Friends. Family. White lilies. Uncle Rod being an asshole. Eren’s dad being awkward. His mom’s publisher and agent, tearful hugs at the door.

Mikasa leaned close with a hand pressed tenderly to his back and whispered, “Eren, your shirt’s on inside-out.”

Marco had come with Jean, Marco with the freckles who worked at Tea Republik with Mikasa and always made Eren and everyone free drinks when they came in.

Levi sauntered over with his hand in his pocket and his coat slung over his shoulder, which didn’t seem right for a peacoat but made the effect all the more flustering. Levi, his mom’s longtime friend and old editor. Levi, who Eren hadn’t seen in a couple years. Levi, with his gray-blue eyes and finger-combed hair.

Levi, who said, “Let me buy you a drink, the least I can do…”

Levi, breathing down his neck, his hand between Eren’s thighs, grinding him like a pestle into bucking mortar—

_Bvvt. Bvvt._

Eren’s eyes popped open.

_Bvvt. Bvvt. My old man is a bad man but I can’t deny the way he holds my hand… Bvvt. Bvvt._

Light washed through the glass patio doors and clawed at his eyes. Eren groaned and pulled the blanket higher over his head. His phone stopped ringing. Thank God. Where was it? It didn’t sound like it was on the bedside table. Jesus fuck, he was so hungover. His head was pounding. Mouth dry, head congested. He needed a Zantak or something. Zantak and Advil, some gummy vitamins—

Wait, patio doors? He didn’t have patio doors.

Eren’s eyes popped open again and he threw the blankets off his head with only a tiny wince. The real wince came when he sat up too fast and a wave of no-dinner dehydration headache dizzied him, made his stomach lurch.

Oh. Right.

Levi Ackerman’s bedroom.

Eren rolled out of the bed to the floor with a couple of thuds and crouched, peeking around the mattress at the master bath. Nobody. Lights out. His eyes slid over; he squinted out the door into the apartment. Nothing.

He was alone in the place. He could smell coffee. Coffee sounded like fucking _ambrosia_ right now.

Peaceful morning. Softly overcast but still such a bright sky. Fall was funny like that—beautiful and purified. Sound of cars below the apartment building, city noise. A clock ticking somewhere.

Eren crawled carefully around the room, gathering what clothes of his he could find. He sat there in just his boxer briefs for a moment with his head against the patio doors, gawking down past the patio where he could see all across 5th Ave, the very edges of Pike Place through high-rises and squat original brick. The headache was retreating to a dull throb. He was stiff and groggy, so stuffed-up. Sore inside, too. He needed to pee. Then he’d get out of here. He—

The funeral. The bar. Smoking a cigarette while the light from streetlamps swam in and out of the car and Levi Ackerman drove them back to his apartment and…

Shit _._

Eren threw his shirt against his face like he was close to suffocating himself in it and rattled out a mortified moan of, “ _Ohhhh_ _fuuuuck_ …”

He’d slept with Levi. His mother’s friend, Levi. In Levi’s bed. Where Levi had more than certainly slept with other people before. In Levi’s apartment, which held a handful of memories to Eren and was now tainted by a drunken fling with _his mother’s friend Levi Ackerman_. Oh God, he’d fucked Levi. Actually, Levi had fucked him. Oh God, don’t think about it that way. Oh God, he hardly knew a single thing about the guy—sure, he’d technically known him since he was like thirteen or something, when he’d had the world’s biggest, stupidest teenage crush on the guy, but right now—twenty-four and hungover—he didn’t really _know_ him. Like, where did he work now? Did he have a lot of one-night stands? Did this count as a one-night stand? Oh God, his mom was probably going to haunt him for this. The night of her fucking funeral and he got drunk and slept with a friend of hers. What a stellar son he was. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Talk to Levi about it? Just pretend it never happened? He—

Eren’s phone vibrated for a text message. Oh, it was in his pants. He really wanted to just crawl into a hole and die. But he checked his phone. Two missed calls from Jean. A text.

From: JEAN-BO

_call when u can we need 2 talk_

Eren almost forgot to pee before rushing out. He’d get coffee somewhere else. There was a note taped to the inside of the front door:

_I’m at work. Here’s my number if you don’t have it – 206-262-3198_

Eren ripped the note down like it might make the whole fiasco not real. It didn’t. It was real. He didn’t know why he shoved the note in his pocket. But he did.

* * *

“Do you know how much it drives me crazy when people substitute the literal number two for the word ‘to?’” Eren blurted when Jean picked up the phone. Outside his car, the world streamed by a little brighter than his headache would have preferred—the trees that lined the streets bursting green and waving as he passed, the lake playing peekaboo here and there between colorful houses patchworked together into the kind of neighborhood that lent its character so well to Seattle streets. Slate-blue PNW bungalows, ocher Asian-inspired Craftsmans, Tudors with exposed beams, guarding the faded concrete and guarded by crooked concrete steps.

Jean chuckled a little. Eren sacrificed hearing half of it as he juggled his phone, trying to get the speaker on without sideswiping any of the parallel parkers. He cracked his two front windows and lit a cigarette, phone perched on his knee. He felt a little better after a shower, medicine, coffee. It was Friday; his class started in forty minutes and he needed to find parking somewhere then make it across campus.

“I’m sorry,” Jean said from Eren’s knee, voice a little tinny but at least loud enough. “Are you not as fascinated with the malleability and constant flux of language as I am?”

“Nerd,” Eren grunted, blowing smoke out the window. He knew Jean was only half sarcastic. The autumn air was crisp and purified, tossing almost-dry hair in and out of his eyes gently and tickling his neck at the collar of his jacket. “Hey, I accidentally took your key again yesterday, before the… The funeral.”

“Yeah, I noticed. I stayed at Marco’s.”

“You know, you might as well make me a spare by now.”

“Ha,” Jean said, “yeah.” There was a pause in which his hesitation was painfully obvious. Eren could feel it in the car like the autumn wind sneaking in. Finally Jean went on: “That’s, um—that’s what we need to talk about.”

Eren almost choked on a drag from his cigarette; he missed the window and the ash flew back on him. Fucking A—

“Oh,” he said. “Are you serious right now? Are you—?” A sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff ripped from his throat and left his voice chalky. He swerved a little, trying to swipe ash off his clean jeans but only managing to smear gray into the denim. _What we need to talk about._

Jean was obviously anxious. “Well, it’s not—it’s not what you’re expecting.”

“Uh, I’m expecting something very specific and I think it’s totally logical.” Eren stopped a little hard at a red light and drummed his thumb impatiently on the steering wheel.

“It’s just,” Jean said, “I think things are moving kind of fast. And I know we talked about wanting to try exclusivity, but we’ve only been dating for like, four months…”

“‘Not what you expect,’ huh?” Eren sputtered, and now it was more like a laugh than a scoff. Maybe he’d short circuited somewhere if he was laughing about this. “Okay, I get it. There’s someone else, right? That’s why you’ve been dragging your heels, that’s why you’ve wanted to stay casual even after _four fucking months_.”

“Eren, come on,” Jean snapped. There was a rustling sound as he switched ears or something. “First of all, four months is really not that long. Second of all, you went out and got drunk and didn’t even come over to my place last night.”

Stab of guilt that immediately became that humiliated shock and self-hatred for _sleeping with his mother’s friend_. Eren swallowed hard over a sudden lump in his throat and let his eyes roam out the window, around the five-way at the U-Village.

“Well, you didn’t ask me to come over…”

“I figured you would want to, your mother just fucking died.”

“ _Thanks_ , Jean,” Eren spat, voice like glass, but it wasn’t necessary; Jean already immediately recognized his fault.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that. I just thought you’d want comfort or something.”

“Well, you didn’t call me, did you?”

“No.”

“There you go.”

“Listen, I feel like the way we look at relationships is different…”

“Is that your version of it’s not you, it’s me?” Eren snorted. “What about ‘you’re going to make someone really happy one day!’ Or, ‘I need some space, I need to focus on my career, I’m not ready for a serious relationship, I’m not good enough for you, let’s be good friends, I like you but I’m not in love with you.’ Take your pick.” 

“What the fuck do you want me to say?” Jean fired back. “At least I’m being honest. I think that counts for something—”

“Listen,” Eren said flatly, loftily, holding the phone up to his mouth and switching lanes one-handed without dropping more ash on himself. He didn’t understand how he was so calm. Kind of in shock or too hungover to be worked up, probably. “Here’s what’s happening. This is the aversion to emotional commitment part. Pinch Point number two, probably. Next, we part in anger. Then there’s the great turn-around. And—”

“Eren!” Jean interrupted, sharply. “This isn’t a fucking story! That’s not how it works!” His voice got so smooth and authoritative when it rose like that; it always caught Eren off guard. “That’s the problem here, okay? I don’t know what the fuck you want in a relationship but I don’t think I can give it to you, whatever it is. I didn’t want to do this after, you know, what happened, but—look, if that’s how you need it to work in your head for this to happen, _fine_. Sorry I couldn’t be _romantic_ enough for you—”

“ _Shit_ ,” Eren sputtered.

“What?” Jean said. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Eren slouched in the driver’s seat, one arm propped on the wheel as he waited for another light to turn. “I put my shirt on inside out _again_ ,” he grumbled.

There was a pause, and then Jean laughed. It was weirdly soothing and at the same time really painful, because it was one of the things that Eren had fallen for earliest and hardest.

“See, that’s what I like,” Jean said faintly. “I _like_ you, Eren. You’re a fucking good friend of mine. But I don’t think we should date anymore.”

“Still cliché.” Eren turned off the speaker and just held the phone to his ear. He didn’t care anymore. Bring on the ticket.

“I don’t want it to be awkward,” Jean mumbled.

Eren scoffed weakly. He turned onto Greek Row—ah, right there. Parallel spot. Yes. Lucky. Leaves danced dead on the street. He loved this time of year. Perfect sweater weather. He swung out a little and fumbled for reverse.

“At work,” Jean went on. “I don’t want to _not_ have you in my life, I just don’t want to _be with_ you anymore. Can we be friends? Can you make room for that in your romance plots?”

Eren was quiet. It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t even thinking about something to say back, just sort of staring and breathing and remembering to keep breathing. _Don’t want it to be awkward_ …

Someone behind him honked. Shit, he was still angled out into the street. He’d stopped parking halfway because Jean had hit something somewhere in him that felt like a grossly deep bruise. Romance plots? What the fuck did that mean?

“Can we talk about this later?” he husked as he backed in a little more, enough for the driver to swing around him but not at the right angle to actually park. “About still being friends? I’m pretty sure it’ll happen, but I can’t really process you dumping me right now. Like, I get it—but just give me a few days.”

“Yeah.” Jean sighed. “Sounds good. Sorry.”

“Sorry, too,” Eren mumbled. “I’ll see you later.”

“I kind of need my key.”

“Are you on campus yet? I’m parking right now.”

“Yeah. I’ll be in the office.”

“Okay.”  

Eren hung up. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, sighed heavily. Shifted back into drive and swung out again for the last angle at parking—

_SCRR—CRUNCH!_

He jerked forward as his car scraped to a sudden violent stop.

Against the side of a car driving the opposite direction on the narrow, tree-lined street.

Shattering headlight. Tires squealed. A dull _thud_ and heavy rattle. 

Eren gawked, mouth open.

A very nice, very new-looking white Audi sat at an angle across the narrow street, its back bumper up against the curb and a sizeable dent in the rear passenger door. And paint from Eren’s front bumper. Or maybe just paint scraped off. He couldn’t tell.

The driver in the car ahead of him look around for a moment. Turned on his hazards. Opened his door very carefully and climb out of his shining white car, which with his long coat and fuck-me-businessman hair spelled absolute doom by way of insurance bill and premium spike.

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

With another long, heavy sigh, Eren punched his own hazards and flopped back in his seat, scowling. He rolled down his window all the way and flicked out his cigarette butt, pouting fiercely at the tall, blond Audi driver as he came over rubbing the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asked patiently, the kind of patience that was maybe a little judgmental.

“ _No_ ,” Eren replied. Who the fuck would be so calm after some motherfucker in an already sort of dinged-up Toyota hit the back of their nice white fucking _Audi_?

“You want to pull over up there a little further?” The blond man turned around and surveyed his car with a hand in his coat pocket and the other on Eren’s hood. “It doesn’t look that bad. I can drive it. We should get out of the way before we exchange insurance.”

“Sure,” Eren muttered through his teeth. “Sounds good.”

His mom was dead. He just got broken up with. He went out to drink last night after the funeral and accidentally slept with his mother’s friend, who was significantly older than him, and who was supposed to be reserved from crushing on from afar, not to mention _his mother’s fucking friend_ , he did not have time for this between Jean’s key and class at one, and now he fucked his front headlight and he fucked an Audi. Maybe it was time to check the rearview for the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, coming down the street with the police lights. Okay, maybe that was a little histrionic. But at this point, it wouldn’t be a party without them, right?

 

**end ch. i.**


	2. An Inventive But Credible Contrivance

* * *

 

Levi met Carla twelve years ago back in 2004, when he was an intern at Trumpet Books. He was twenty-two. She was thirty-four and one of those overnight success stories with Harlequin—although _overnight_ was more like _over a few years_ , and Trumpet jumped at the first opportunity to sign her into the agency.

“She’s the next Nicholas Sparks,” the senior agent kept saying. “I swear to God, she’s the next Nicholas Sparks.”

Carla Jäger wasn’t the next Nicholas Sparks, but she was as close as a popular new romance novelist could be. Plus, she lived in the area. She came in after a lunch date with the lucky gal recruited to sign her on and toured the agency, met some of the editors, Levi brought them coffee and listened to them discuss sales and plans for future manuscripts, and he thought, _Good luck with that bullshit, whoever’s editing her_.

Half a year later, he was editing Carla Jäger’s second non-Harlequin standard book. Typical romance novels had constricted her talent. She was a literary romance genius.

He was still technically an intern, but Trumpet wanted to offer him an in-house position as assistant editor or agent assistant if he was good enough. Turned out, he was. Not paid yet, but editing sooner than he expected. And the relationship between editor and author was a strange one—you had to get extremely intimate and critical with someone you hardly knew—but somehow, after just that first book, he and Carla were basically friends.

“I bet Harlequin’s pissed at how well you’re doing now,” Levi said over coffee, or dinner, pizza and drinks in Carla’s living room. Small world, Carla’s ex-husband worked at Swedish Hospital, where Levi’s boyfriend Erwin had just started interning clinicals for med school.

Carla also had a son—Eren, a wide-eyed and spunky twelve-year-old who Levi mostly saw in the periphery, Carla reeling him close for a kiss he always stubbornly tried to escape before she said firmly and lovingly, “Homework time,” or “Be back by nine o’clock, please,” or, “Do the chores, please, you can’t just lay around when you’re suspended.”  

“I’m not five,” her son would grumble, or something else along the lines of _Mom, God, you’re embarrassing and I’m balls deep in the stubborn preteen stage already_. Quick but lingering sidelong glance at Levi until Eren realized Levi was looking back and then he usually got flustered and angry and hurried out of sight again.

“He’s probably worried I’m dating you,” Carla laughed once.

Levi had just snorted. That was pretty funny, considering the age difference. And his doctor boyfriend and the fact that he was not really interested in women. Not that Carla wasn’t great; Carla was great. She had wide, owl-deep eyes that she’d passed on to Eren, bags beneath them more often than not from long hours at her computer or vintage typewriter, soft dark hair and a fragility about her that was nothing weak, just flower-lithe. She had the wildest stories about a lifetime of waitressing until her Harlequins really took off. She still liked beer over wine, and she always dressed very nice, often brought Eren in with her when she visited the agency office.

After ten years, they weren’t _close_ , not like Levi was close with Hanji or Mike or the few other peers from grad school—but they were close enough to be able to stop talking for a few months at a time then come together as if they’d last talked yesterday. Hours-long chats and late-night phone calls about anything—market trends, manuscript options and numbers, edits, movies seen last week and trips to New York. Eren weaved in and out of the background sometimes.

Levi moved into a nicer place with Erwin. He worked as an in-house editor for Trumpet for a year or two after school, moved on to try his hand at agenting with Josephine Gaines and Associates, but the agency just really couldn’t break into the market. “I think we should take a break or something,” Levi told Erwin, and Erwin didn’t disagree. Sometimes they still slept together, and Levi cared about him—a lot—but he just couldn’t stand the whole romance thing. “Your loss,” Erwin joked. But he still looked worried it was his fault. Levi went back to editing, this time for Hawthorne Literary, a Seattle agency that was holding strong season after season on the Top 50 Lit Agencies list.

Then—well, then the Nissan Titan happened.

And Levi didn’t know why it got him thinking, but he’d started thinking about 1993, and a cramped, mildew-smelling closet of a wake room, with deep red walls and fake flowers wreathed on the plastic sconce lights, and staring at his mom, so relaxed, finally, so not sad, so not tired, still too pale and too thin but the posthumous makeup person, whoever the fuck wanted that job, they’d brushed her hair really nice and he could tell they’d put blush on her cheeks, and cleaned the dried blood out of her nose—

Not drugs, Nissan Titan.

Carla, so-called queen of the romance novel, was gone.

And Levi slept with her son.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Levi muttered, slamming his car door shut as he got out in the small parking garage. The sound bounced around the concrete a little more violently than he’d expected. Someone else’s car alarm went off for a good two or three seconds as if to scold him.

His chest ached.

It felt very…odd. It didn’t feel like she was gone. It just felt like one of those times where they were too busy for lunch or phone calls. Carla, off book touring or taking a writer’s retreat. He, in the Bellevue office suite, working on developmental edits for this or that newly acquired manuscript. Just waiting for the phone call—“Want to grab dinner and catch up?”

Levi leaned back against his Mazda, head in hand, taking a moment to send some thoughts into the universe where Carla maybe might catch them. _I hope you’re laughing about it, I’m sorry I fucked your kid._

He was a bit surprised, in a distantly amused sort of way, that Carla’s son had such a bold sex life. Drunken fling. What would Carla think about that one? He still remembered very clearly the day she came into his office, all red-faced and wind-tossed from the wintry day, hair coming loose from her little side braid. Sat down with a dramatic sigh and raised her brows and said, “Well, who better to be my confidant now than you, Levi. Eren told me he’s into boys.” 

The only thing that felt terrible and inappropriate was that he hadn’t had the chance to ask Carla’s permission.

Levi got the feeling she wouldn’t have been surprised at all that, at some point, Eren and Levi finally collided in a way like this. “Good luck with that,” she would have said, grinning at Levi from the patio doors with her dirty gardening gloves and galoshes. 

But the thing was, it didn’t really feel like Eren was Carla’s son. He was, of course, but—Eren was a different person now. Levi couldn’t really remember exactly how long ago he’d last seen the kid, between him going to school and becoming a regular adult. It felt very strange and forceful trying to connect the wide-eyed teenager with the young man at the funeral yesterday. At the bar. In his car. In his bed. They seemed like two wholly different creatures, two sides of the same coin but never both at once, even with those same blazing hazel eyes like sparks borrowed from some great fire.

Levi had never in his wildest dreams imagined he would have sex with Carla Jäger’s son.

But he had to admit to himself that last night, he’d found Eren damn sexy. His soft intensity. Not quite hardened into real manliness yet. That messy hair and haunting eyes, entirely mesmerizing, demanding attention. And his body—

Levi tipped his head back and banged it once or twice, gently, on the top of his car. _Don’t hate me, Carla. His body’s amazing_.

He couldn’t say he wasn’t completely unbothered by the fact that he’d known Eren since he was in middle school. But he wasn’t completely _bothered_ by it, either. They were both adults. Worse things had happened. There was an entire sub-Reddit dedicated to incest, after all—which Hanji had found at one of their weekly cranky old people dinners, and they’d all been buzzed enough on Belgian beer to lay around on the floor grimacing and laughing like a bunch of kids again—and which was _hardly_ this and a _terrible_ comparison, but it sufficed to prove the point. This wasn’t some over the line atrocity. They were strangers, essentially. They just knew each other through Eren’s mother.

Whatever. Honestly, it was what it was. The kid probably thought nothing of it; he’d been narrowly close to wasted and in dire need of distraction, which maybe didn’t make it the healthiest of decisions, but he probably wouldn’t even try to stay in contact with Levi. They didn’t know each other well enough for that. That and the already slightly uncomfortable feeling of embarrassment and mild morning-after regret typical of a drunken accident—if anything, Eren would probably avoid him.

It was just too soon. He probably wanted space from anything and everything that reminded him of his mother.

Levi didn’t think Carla would like that, but what could he do about it? He’d left her son his phone number. So if he wanted to reach out, he could. And Levi would just have to suck it up and deal with it, even though he didn’t feel entirely talented when it came to consoling people.

Shit. He left his bag in the car. With a long sigh through a tight jaw, Levi opened his car door again and snatched his leather satchel from the backseat. Shut the door. The other car alarm went off again.

* * *

Two weeks after the funeral, and they were _still_ calling.

Eren stretched across the couch to the coffee table for his phone with great effort and checked the number. New York area code. He sighed and swiped to answer. “Hello?” he grumbled.

“Good morning! This is Mina Carolina from Poets and Writers. First I wanted to say, I’m so sorry for your loss. We all are so upset to hear about Carla. We’re…”

“Yeah,” Eren husked, wriggling deeper into the couch and his throw blanket cocoon. He had about four episodes of _American Horror Story_ to finish before heading to campus for his Thursday class. “I know. You’re so upset, you’re offering condolences, but you also want to know if I’m interested in doing an interview.”

“Well—ah—um, yes, we were wondering if you’d want to take part in a piece honoring Carla in our next issue. As her son, as E. Rogue, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“You’ll have to get in line, Mina. I’m not doing interviews yet. It’s been two God damn weeks since the funeral.”

It sounded like Mina almost dropped the phone. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry! You’re absolutely right. I wouldn’t have called…”

“I know, your editor’s breathing down your neck, probably.” Eren sighed again, wrestling one hand out of the blanket for the remote control to pause his show. “It’s not your fault. Call me next week, okay?”

“Of course, Mr. Rogue! Completely up to you—”

“Also, please don’t call me Mr. Rogue unless we’re actually in an interview,” Eren said a bit more politely. “I told you guys that last time, too. It’s just my pen name. Talk later.”

He let the phone slide out of his fingers to the couch beside him and scowled at the paused television for a moment.

Writer’s Digest, Publishers Weekly, Writer Mag, a bunch of publishing blogs, a writing conference coming up—even fucking _People_ magazine, for Christ’s sake. They all wanted to hear from him, wanted to write this or that blurb honoring his mom, blah blah blah. He didn’t even know where to start with Regency Enterprises after they optioned that one book of his mom’s last year. Her agent would probably handle that. Jesus, there was so much paperwork to get to. His mom’s lawyer kept calling, too. _Eren, you’ve got to let me know if that date and time works for you for the probate court date, and your father keeps calling about the bonds…_

At least his own agent was giving him a little bit of room. She’d known his mother, after all; his mother was the reason he’d gotten his foot in the door, pseudonym or not, in the first place.

Eren threw off the blanket and hoisted himself from the couch. He needed to shower. First he needed to eat.

Waiting for a Hot Pocket to finish in the microwave, he went through the pile of mail that had collected on the table. Junk, junk, condolences, serial subscriptions, bills, paper copy of quarterly royalties he’d already transferred from Paypal to his bank account.

There wasn’t a single room in this house whose quiet didn’t try to swallow Eren whole.

There were so many memories in the little Tudor. So many, he couldn’t even untangle them. He didn’t like that. He wanted to be able to remember. He didn’t want them to just lump together into a feeling. A heavy, lonely, numb feeling. Surreal. He was terrified he’d forget things that way.

His phone rang again. Car insurance agent. Eren rejected the call. He was so not ready to hear how much he had to pay out for that Audi. The guy could just wait a little longer.  

Eren stood in the middle of the living room looking around in a daze, not really seeing anything. Just feeling very empty and confused, hugging the throw blanket around him.

He couldn’t stay here.

He couldn’t live here right now. It still smelled like her. He still felt her everywhere. He kept waiting for her to come down the hall from her room, for the radio to kick on in the bathroom while she showered, for her to come in from the side door, call from the kitchen, “Eren? I need help with the groceries!”  

The side door slammed behind him as he went out to the deck for a cigarette. He could at least check his voicemails. He flopped down into the hammock—it was a little damp from morning rain. What the fuck ever. Insurance agent, Mikasa, _People_ … Dad.

Eren flicked cigarette ash off the side of the porch, one foot propped up to rock himself gently to and fro. _Creak. Creak_. He played the voicemail on speaker, phone on his stomach as he watched the sky. Silky and mother-of-pearl, squinting a little against the occasional pinprick of stray raindrops.

“ _Eren, I wish you’d pick up my calls. I don’t think it’s a good thing for you to shut yourself up right now. I know you’re dealing with it in your own way, that’s what you do, but I want you to know I’m here, too. I’m not on call this weekend if you’d like to get out, do something fun. We could drive down to Ocean Shores for a day, or go hiking, or… Well, just call me. I love you, son._ ”

Pushing with a socked toe, Eren just kept swinging the hammock to and fro. _Creak. Creak_.

“ _Press seven to delete message. Press nine to save_ —”

Eren just hit the end call button.

He did not want to do anything with his dad. He did not want to go to Ocean Shores, he did not want to go fucking hiking where he’d be stuck on a trail somewhere for hours with nothing to do but talk to his dad. He did not want to do anything with anyone.

But all of a sudden he did not. Want. To be in this house.

Eren stubbed out his cigarette in the almost-empty ash tray and swung up off the hammock.

He stood there in the still, quiet kitchen, gawking at Levi’s number—the note from two weeks ago, before his Drive of Shame, posted on the fridge by a souvenir magnet shaped like a London double-decker. That trip with his mom had been almost a year ago, now. Felt like forever.

Eren dialed the number. The guy probably wouldn’t answer. He was at work, surely; he wouldn’t care about personal calls, let alone from Eren. But he didn’t know Eren’s number, right? This was stupid. Why was he calling him? He just wanted to forget about all that, what happened after the funeral. He felt like a loser, falling into bed so fucking hard with someone just to feel something other than sad. And with a man he’d known since he was twelve. Never mind that he’d always sort of had the world’s dumbest crush on his mom’s friend Levi Ackerman, the kind of dorky crush he didn’t feel compelled to act on, just sort of wanted to marinate in, admire him from afar, go weak in the knees for everything he did—see, he wasn’t going to answer—

 _Click._ Soft rustling. “This is Levi.”

Eren’s heart lurched to his throat and then plummeted with his stomach.

“Uhh,” Eren replied.

“Sorry?”

“It’s me. Eren.” Eren shook his head, rolled his eyes at himself. Way to go, champ. King of the awkward.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Well, shit, don’t sound so happy to hear from me. Listen, I need to get out of the house. When’s your lunch break? We—need to talk about what the fuck happened.”

No. No, they did not. Really, it was fine. Why had he said that?

Levi was quiet for a moment. More rustling. Distant squeak of a desk chair. Then, finally, in that almost-bored way of his, voice like burnt velvet, “We can meet for coffee.”

* * *

The U-Village Starbucks was outrageously loud and bustling, per usual. But there was a hell of a lot more anonymity here than at Tea Republik, where anybody Eren knew could see him and ask later, “Who’s that guy you were with? That wasn’t Jean.”

Levi kept looking at him sideways, suspiciously, like he didn’t understand why Eren was so jittery or avoidant as they sat in silence at a center table.

It was just that he’d done spectacularly well with not thinking about their drunken fling. And now here they were.

“Well, um.” Eren cleared his throat and finally forced himself to meet Levi’s eyes, once he looked up from his cell phone. “Where do you even work now? Are you still editing?”

“Yeah,” Levi murmured, leaning back in his chair with one arm propped against the back of it as he drummed a finger near his coffee cup. “What about you, kiddo?”

Eren snorted. “Please don’t call me kiddo, that makes this feel so much worse.”

“Makes what feel worse?”

“I’m in the U-Dub MFA for creative writing. Fully funded. I teach two classes a quarter.”

“You’re still writing romance novels?” Levi asked like he already knew and was just trying to make conversation. 

Eren smiled faintly at his coffee before he caught himself and it faded. “Yeah,” he said. “But I’m taking a tiny break between projects right now. Hey, Levi, I just wanted to let you know I don’t need pity sex.”

Levi fell still, one brow flicking up. He laughed, which was surprising, because there wasn’t even the ghost of a smile on his face. “I’m sorry—pity sex? What the fuck is that?”

Eren shrugged. 

Levi leaned forward, elbows propped on the table and hands loosely folded. He squinted at Eren, one of those looks of his that was so inscrutable. They’d intimidated Eren when he was younger. A lot. “You think I had sex with you out of pity?”

“ _Shh_ ,” Eren hissed, waving a hand. All he needed was random strangers keying in on this.

“We were _drunk_ ,” Levi reminded. “It was an accident.”

Eren blushed, and he was angry at himself for blushing. “You’re not seriously into me, are you? That’s creepy.”

Levi snorted, offended. Looked like he wanted to say something cruel, but bit it back.

“I’ve known you since I was twelve,” Eren sputtered. “I was twelve and you were—what, like twenty-five?”

“Twenty-one,” Levi corrected defensively. “Or twenty-two.”

“Exactly! I was a _kid_ when we met!” 

“Well, you’re not a fucking kid anymore, are you?” Levi cut back. “Or is that the only part of you that hasn’t grown the fuck up?”

Eren slouched low in his seat, arms crossed. For a moment he had nothing to say. He mumbled, “Are you saying I’m immature?”

“I’m saying I’m not your _family_ , this isn’t some Woody Allen Soon-Yi shit,” Levi husked, clearly not about to put up with any accusation of predatory inclinations.

Eren shut up, glaring. He had nothing to argue that. He was embarrassed still, and kind of in shock. And all right, so he was just trying to make excuses now. For still being into his mother’s friend. For acting on it. For—

For wanting more, anything more. Anything.    

Flatly, not quite judgmentally, in a way that said _Stop pinning this on me_ , Levi murmured, “You’re being a brat. Obviously there’s some sort of attraction here or we wouldn’t have slept together. At least, I don’t do that. I don’t know about you.”

Eren slouched lower, blushing hot. His scowl fell a bit more flustered. But he didn’t yield. Just glared.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I have a hard time believing that.”

Levi’s eyes flashed over him and Eren immediately regretted it. He didn’t mean it like that; it was just difficult to imagine that the enigma that was Levi, flitting around in his memories, had apparently noticed him. He was just… Afraid of what it meant. _Some sort of attraction here…_ How was he supposed to explain that he felt guilty, like he was doing something behind his mother’s back? Like he was somehow betraying her?

That what happened the night of the funeral wasn’t even about his stupid childhood crush—he hadn’t even thought about it— _some sort of attraction._ That sex with Levi was some of the best sex he’d ever had.

Levi held his head in one hand, closing his eyes and taking a long breath like he needed a moment to keep from strangling Eren across the table. “Eren,” he husked, opening his eyes just a bit to peer at him through his lashes. “Do not for one second think that I’ve been _waiting_ to fuck you. Okay, sure, it’s a little messed up that I knew you when…you were a kid, I’m older than you, we haven’t talked in a while. I didn’t expect what happened any more than you did. But it’s not like I’m Carla’s ex or something. We were friends. Get over it. Because it happened. You and I fucked.”

“Jesus,” Eren groaned behind his hands, covering his face just so he could hide from the world for a few moments, sliding so low in his seat that it hurt his back a little.

He thought about it. He sat there, hands slowly sagging down until his arms crossed, frowning at his coffee. He really thought about it. And either Levi let him think about it, or Levi was still thinking about it himself.

Levi, when he was younger—that loose dark hair, the weird lingering late-nineties professionalism of a turtleneck or a T-shirt under a suitcoat, pin-striped dress shirts, perfectly-fitting jeans and sweater-knit socks when he was over just to visit for a few hours. Dry humor. All-seeing glance. Elusive smile. Carrying himself with a class and charisma like a knife he’d carved himself from a stick. Self-made, self-fitting. Levi, at the bar, same finger-combed hair, same blue-gray eyes, same humor and smirk and weirdly charming attitude, a little older in the jaw and the shoulders and the hands, but Levi. Who felt like a stranger or—a friend, somehow. The kind of friend you made when you got the same gas station cashier all the time, or the same barista, or chatted a little with your mailman—

Eren dropped his hands and sighed heavily, staring at his coffee. “Well, at least I got laid one last time before I got dumped.”

Levi’s eyes flickered up. “I’m sorry.”

Eren shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m not even that upset about it, which is weird. I really think we can still be friends. We weren’t exclusive, just casually dating. I mean, I left my toothbrush at his house a couple times but most of the time it was an accident and he never got the hint to ask if I wanted to stay over longer than once or twice a week, have a drawer at his place, you know. So maybe it wasn’t what I thought it was at all.”

“No,” Levi murmured, “I mean for what happened after the funeral.”

Something in Eren’s chest stretched too tight and too thin gave a guilty little twinge at that.

He’d be a selfish prick if he made Levi out to be the bad guy for something he was equally involved in. He just didn’t want to seem desperate, or weak, or vulnerable. He just didn’t really… _feel bad_ about it. Maybe because he felt so numb and shorted out, anyway. What was the point in making excuses for having the hots for his mom’s friend? His mom was gone. He was single. He didn’t have much at stake here.

Plus, his mother would have wrung his neck if she knew he didn’t take responsibility for himself.    

“Well, just because it was an accident didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it,” Eren mumbled, the words scraping the back of his throat like it was something spiteful to say. It came out that way. But it wasn’t. It was that spark of a crush, burning under his skin. He’d acted on it. He had to at least own up to it now.

“Hmm?” Levi prompted, brow knotted. Eren had spoken too quietly.

“I didn’t _not_ enjoy it,” he snapped, repeating himself.   

Levi uttered a gentle scoff that was more like a laugh, raising his brows. But it wasn’t unkind.

Eren waved a hand dismissively, a dark frown pinching his face. “Yeah, you knew my mother, and you’ve been in my life only a little less than my dad but it’s not like we really _know_ each other. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Levi murmured, drumming a finger against his cup of tea. “That’s what I thought, too. We’re still sort of strangers, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” Eren agreed on a long sigh. “That makes a lot of sense, actually. When you put it like that.” The kneejerk resentment was fading, distant. Dissipating with the spontaneous hookup humiliation and self-hate.

He needed a stranger, someone familiar but not. Somewhere safe but disconnected.

And that was Levi, he realized. Someone he knew, but someone he didn’t know.

Levi was quiet for a long moment. When Eren looked up, he expected him to have that sharp light in his eyes still—but he didn’t. He’d softened, in a beaten-down sort of way. Soft and dark like a rainy day sky. Eyes, prying into Eren. One of those moments where the whole world seemed to depend on the words riding the back of his little breath.

“So get to know me, then,” Levi murmured, raising his brows. “Not me as your mom’s friend, or you as your mom’s son. Get to know me and I’ll get to know you.”

Eren’s face burned. His conscience burned hotter. He ripped his eyes away, a little cautious and admittedly shy of how that struck him so deeply. _Get to know me_. God damn it. He wanted to jot that down to use later, in his next project. He—

Eren wanted to.

He caught Levi’s glance, brow knotting. His mom was probably laughing her little ghost ass off about all this right now. And that look—that fucking _look_ Levi gave him—it was the one that made Eren bumbling and blushing, butterflies raging rabid at his ribcage. This time, though, it felt markedly more… _real_.

Eren fiddled with the sleeves of his sweater. “Yeah,” he husked. “That sounds good. Sorry for being an asshole.”

“How are you doing otherwise?” Levi asked like he felt obligated, going back to his phone.

“Well, I wish I were still at home binge-watching ‘AHS’ and after class, I need to go pack some stuff. I think I’m going to crash with a friend for a while.”

Levi’s eyes cut back up to him. “Why?” he demanded.

Why? Why the fuck wouldn’t he?

Eren’s face pinched. “I just…can’t be in that house right now.”

“You could stay with me if you want, too.”

Wait—what?

Eren threw Levi a look without lifting his head. “Um, hold on. You want me to _stay with you_?”

Levi rolled his eyes rather dramatically for his normally cool exterior. “Jesus,” he muttered. “You think I want to pollute my space with your attitude? Look, your mom would kill me if I didn’t at least offer, so I offered. It’s up to you. It’s not like I’m begging you.”

Levi met his eyes again. Eren shrank lower in his seat, a weird, heart-racing nervousness washing through him. Decision anxiety. Flustered. Desperate. Startled with how much the offer did _not_ bother him. In fact, it seemed like a great fucking idea. Levi would leave him alone. Staying with Mikasa or Armin would be hell and hurting. But Levi…

Someone he knew, but didn’t know. A ghost of a friend. Somewhere, someone, to escape everyone else breathing down his neck, smothering him, insisting they were there for him. A stranger who wasn’t a stranger. Familiar but unfamiliar. Right now that felt— _safe_.

“Okay,” he husked, clearing his throat. “But nothing funny,” he added firmly, eyes flashing over to Levi’s. “Just cohabitating.”

Levi rolled his eyes, clearly impatient with Eren’s wavering blame game. “I have a spare bedroom, it’s fine,” he muttered. After a long moment without eye contact, he said softly, “I just want you to be okay.”   

It hit Eren hard again, but in a different way—Levi was his mother’s friend. He was grieving, too. He didn’t really know Eren, either. He was in the same fucking boat. Eren was being selfish.

Fuck if he was going to admit that, though. He shoved it down deep again, buried it somewhere.

“Yeah,” Eren grunted, nodding decisively. “Same.”

 

**end ch. ii**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you understand how much it hurt to realize that 12 years ago was 2004. also if anyone has a song rec for this chapter i’d love to hear it also TEA REPUBLIK SHOUT OUT


	3. A House Key and an Inciting Incident

* * *

_2004._

The Professor’s Row Tudor had laceleaf maple out front, along the cracked and mossy walk from the street. It was raining hard out. Levi stopped to wipe his feet and shake his umbrella on the porch as Carla swung open the iron-wrought screen door, saying, “Come in, come in!”

Levi wasn’t quite sure what to expect; his boss had said, “She really enjoys talking in person about things. Just leave a bit early and go over or something.”

He was just an intern. He felt too dressed up, coming straight from the office, while Carla was in a casual dress and an oversized sweatshirt.

“I made tea,” she called as Levi came in and toed off his shoes, uncertainly. The house smelled like sweet candles and that underlying tang of old Seattle homes. Original molding and hardwood floors, fireplace with rusty grate against the left wall and archway into the kitchen to the right.

Eren was just half a face, peeking suspiciously over the back of the tweed couch. Intent hazel eyes. Appraising Levi. Hardly welcoming. Mess of dark, cowlicked hair.

“Hello.” Levi cleared his throat. “How are you?”

Eren turned around and went back to his homework at the coffee table.

“Don’t mind him,” Carla said as she brought Levi tea at the kitchen table, tucked into a cute little nook next to sliding doors that opened on a damp deck, a bright green but typically cramped backyard. “My son—Eren. He’s mad I won’t let him go to his friend’s until he’s done with homework.”

“I could finish it in like, ten minutes before bed!” Eren snapped from the living room.

“Then you can finish it in like, ten minutes now, right?” Carla replied. She was spunky and spoke her mind; clearly the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.  

Levi smiled a pinched little smile as he brought out the paper manuscript. He loved the feel of paper that thick, clamped by a binder clip and filled with paper clips, sticky notes, page tabs. _Lost and Found_ , by Carla Jäger.

* * *

_2009._

“Fuck agenting,” Levi grumbled, pulling two beers out from his fridge and handing one to Carla.

“So you’re coming back to Trumpet?” she cried, lighting up in a smile that made her look ten years younger.

Levi tossed the bottle opener her way and leaned back against his kitchen counter, shrugging idly as he took a long drink, catching all the foam. He licked his lips, spoke through the bitter burn of booze, “I’m talking with Hawthorne Lit right now. But yeah, I miss editing. I’m not a fucking salesman. I like working with the stories. Turns out, I’m not so good at pitching.”

“You? Not good at first impressions?” Carla teased.

“Who’s this?” Eren piped up from the living room, where he was examining some of the photographs Levi had up on a roll top desk near the windows. He was seventeen and still a mess of wild hair and wilder eyes, somehow both wondering, sensitive youth and obstinate rebel at the same time. Not quite Gen-X like Levi and his mother, but certainly still Gen-Angst. Ripped jeans and all.

He pointed to a picture of Erwin and Levi, from a few years ago, the two of them tipsy at the end of a long table at an unofficial high school reunion, loud and rowdy at Rock Bottom, downtown. Hanji, Mike, Nile, Isabel, Farlan…

“That’s my ex-boyfriend,” Levi grunted.

Eren looked over his shoulder quickly. Brow knotted. Lips parted. A slight dust of color to his cheeks and a look like he felt bad for asking but was satisfied with the reply. He smiled awkwardly. He’d finally moved on from hating Levi’s guts to constantly trying to impress him, anyway. Levi figured it was lack of father figure. He was not inclined to be a father figure.

“Why’d you break up?” Eren asked, point blank.

Wondering, sensitive youth, obstinate rebel, and complete blockhead sometimes.

“Eren, God…” Carla laughed in startled and embarrassed exasperation. “Sweetheart, you don’t ask someone that—”

“It’s research, Mom,” Eren bit back. The little shit.

“No, it’s fine.” Levi shrugged. “It just wasn’t working. We’re still good friends, though. One of my best friends, actually.”

“Eren, find something on TV,” Carla suggested.

“I can order dinner,” Levi added. “It’s no problem.”

Obediently, Eren disappeared to the couch. The television clicked on. Levi flicked a glance Carla’s way. “Research?” he echoed.

Carla nodded, chewing her lower lip. She leaned against the counter opposite from Levi, one arm folded beneath an elbow. “He’s written two books in the last year,” she whispered, raising her brows. Like she didn’t want her son to know she was talking about it. “Romance novels. He keeps saying he’s still trying to decide if he wants to be a writer, too, but…” She smiled nervously. “I told him I could have someone look at his stuff.” Another pause. “Would you look at his stuff?” she half-mouthed.

Levi raised his brows back. “Have you snuck a peek at them?” he murmured. “Are they terrible?”

“No, actually.” Carla’s eyes danced. “I mean, he’s only seventeen, he doesn’t know the art of brevity yet. But they’re better than things I’ve picked up off the shelves lately.”

“Romance novels, erotic romance, romance lit…?”

“Erotic romance. Under a pen name.”

Levi shrugged. “Sure,” he mumbled. “I’ll look at them.”

Carla’s eyes widened excitedly. “I’m not telling him it’s you, though. Don’t tell him.”

“Sure,” Levi said again. “Eren!” he called. “What do you want me and your mom to order for dinner?”

* * *

_2013._

AWP Conference and Bookfair. _Reviving the Romance Novel: Love, Sex, and Anonymity. Panel. 2:00 PM. Guest author Carla Jäger, with notes from E. Rogue._

 _E. Rogue_. Levi thought the pen name was totally ridiculous. He also thought pen names were a dangerous thing, because how was an author supposed to represent themselves, advertise themselves, publicize themselves without real appearances? Whatever. Association apparently counted for quite a lot; “E. Rogue” was successful enough just by the queen of romance lit’s constant and subtle endorsement. Like Anne Rice and Christopher Rice. Except not.

Marriott Marquis, room 702. Levi knocked. Waited. He knocked again. Was Carla already out—?

The hotel door flew open and Eren stood there bleary-eyed and clearly straight out of bed.

Levi scowled. “Are you hungover?”

Eren scowled back. “Maybe.”

“All right then, Hemingway.”

“If I were Hemingway, I’d be writing what I want to write.”

Levi’s brow knotted. He gave Eren a sideways look, a bit troubled by that comment—but not quite sure what to say. If he had a right to say anything. He wasn’t even sure what it exactly meant or if Eren was aware he’d said it aloud.

“Where’s your mother?” Levi murmured, hands shoved in his pockets, jacket falling over his wrists. Attendee badge swinging gently on the lanyard around his neck. _Levi Ackerman, Senior Editor, Hawthorne Literary Agency._

“She went down to the lobby café with Marie.” Eren leaned against the door stiffly, frowning still. Almost a pout. Levi figured men didn’t grow out of that kind of pouting until thirty, at least. Maybe older. Erwin still pouted like that, too.

The awkward chat just sort of fizzled out. Levi shifted his weight to his other foot; Eren did, too, avoiding eye contact.

“Well…” Levi said, and just trailed off.

Eren finally met Levi’s eyes. For a moment there was just that. Silence. But—something there. Something unspoken. Some tension. Something dark and longing in Eren’s eyes, something intimate. _If I were Hemingway_ …

Levi had the urge to hug him, suddenly. And those urges were rather rare.

But Eren was just a crabby, hungover twenty-two-year-old. Or he’d decided to hate Levi again. Levi couldn’t tell.

“We can sit together at your mom’s panel, if you want,” he sighed, turning to leave. “Take a shower, though. You look like shit.” 

* * *

 _Present_.

It was only a little difficult to play Ring of Fire in a very loud, rather dark Pioneer Square bar, but that was part of the fun. Hanji drew a Thumbs card. Erwin and Levi scrambled to pin their thumbs to the table. Hanji almost knocked her amber all over the last piece of white pizza.

“Levi,” Erwin said urgently, wide-eyed and laughing. “It was Levi, Levi was last.”

“You fucker,” Levi hissed. “I was not.”

“Be mature about it, admit your loss!” Hanji cackled.

“We’re thirty-plus playing a college drinking game in the middle of a bar, and you’re telling me to be mature?” Levi snorted.

“You were last!” Erwin insisted, so big and broad hunched forward with his thumb pressed hard to the table. He wasn’t on call tonight. Levi might have to drive him home.

“Jesus fucking Christ, fine,” Levi muttered, and Hanji and Erwin cheered him on gently as he chugged the last of his beer.

“Don’t forget I’m the Rule Master,” Hanji said, leaning hard enough Levi’s way to leer at him that her chair rocked a tiny bit.

Levi’s brow knotted. He coughed a little into the back of his hand after the last swallow, slamming his empty bottle down. “I forgot,” he whined. “What was the rule?”

“If you lose at Thumbs, you have to pick Truth or Dare.”

“That’s so fucking complicated, Hanj, why can’t it be something else?”

“I’m the Rule Master, bitch!”

The waitress swooped by. “Anybody want anything else?”

“Another Corona, if you could?” Erwin asked with only his most charming, dimpled smile. The waitress smiled back, obviously flirting for tips.

“Of course, sugar.”

“Truth,” Levi finally decided, with a defeated sigh. He wasn’t drunk enough to accept a dare in public yet.

“When’s the last time you got laid?” Hanji hummed, bouncing happily as she sipped long and hard at her drink.

Levi glared. Typical Hanji. She winked at him. He shook his head in good-humored surrender and opened his mouth to answer. But then he hesitated. _Fucked up_ , Eren had grouched, earlier at the Starbucks in the U-Village. _Fucked up_.

“Two weeks ago,” Levi husked, playing with the mouth of his empty beer bottle. “Eren.”

Hanji snorted like it was a joke. Then her face fell and she and Erwin gawked at him, respectfully. Maybe a little concerned. Struggling to put two and two together, because Erwin seemed to know he had the answer to the unasked question— _Who?_ —but couldn’t quite find it yet.

“Carla’s son,” Levi reminded him. 

Erwin’s face lit up with vague recognition. “Carla’s son… He’s legal, right?”

“Holy shit,” Levi groaned into his palm, squeezing his eyes shut to search for patience. “He’s twenty-four, for fuck’s sake.”

“When the fuck did you two start dating?” Hanji asked.

“We’re not.” Levi took the beer the waitress brought for Erwin for himself, instead. And carefully kept out the part where, a few days ago, he’d invited Eren to stay with him. “After the funeral, we went out for drinks. Got a little drunk. Went back to my place, and…”

“No shit,” Hanji murmured supportively. “Well, I mean, he’s cute. Right? He’s cute? I don’t actually know that I’ve ever seen him, now that I’m thinking about it.”

“You haven’t,” Levi confirmed.

“He’s cute,” Erwin rescued Levi. “Though I haven’t seen him in—God, years?”

“Got to pee,” Hanji grunted, pushing back from the table. “Be right back.”

Erwin took his beer back and nursed it for a moment, gaze roaming the low-lit bar. He licked his lips and swirled the drink a little, peering over the neck of it with hooded eyes. He perked in an idle smirk. “But he’s the great romance queen’s kid. He’s probably a hopeless romantic. You better not let him think you’re romantically interested or you’ll break his heart.”

Levi took the beer for himself again, threw it back. Feeling a tiny pinch of guilt, he slammed the bottle down and scraped it across the table to Erwin, crossing his arms once his hands were free. _Break his heart._ He smiled wryly, with teeth, met Erwin’s eyes in a slightly hurt fashion. “Are you, perhaps, referencing something in the past, Mr. Smith?” he said in a kind little hiss around the hard swallow.

Erwin smiled back, faintly. “Not at all,” he said, almost as softly. “My heart’s never been broken.”

* * *

The nice thing about his condo building was that it was very quiet. People like him came and went at all odd hours—the place was full of cosmopolitan adults, after all, and surrounded by Belltown, downtown, South Lake Union—but once Levi was in the building and up a few floors, there was such a peaceful buzzing hush.

Rush of the elevator. Music, distantly. That neighbor never really bothered him. Levi swayed around the corner, fingers trailing along the wall, tossing his keys in and out of his palm by two fingers—

Eren sat cross-legged outside Levi’s apartment, propped back against the door with his eyes closed and reading glasses on top of his head. His laptop was open on his knees, limply cradled close.

Levi came to a stop a foot or two in front of him and caught his keys with one more little crash into his palm.

Eren opened his eyes, flustered. Looked around just for a second before staring up at Levi as if to say, _What? I wasn’t asleep_.

“Your shit could have gotten stolen,” Levi remarked.

“From my lap?” Eren cocked a brow and stifled a yawn against the back of his hand. “You know, you should really tell me your schedule so I’ll know when I’m locked out.”

Levi cocked a hip to the side, weight on one foot, working a key off his key ring. “Here,” he grunted. He needed water and preemptive Advil, shower and bed. He tossed the key at Eren, who caught it but almost lost it, juggling a little.

“I made you a key,” Levi grumbled. “Move.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Eren laughed, squinting at Levi as he held up the key as carefully as if it were evidence at a crime scene. “It’s way too early for that, Mr. Ackerman.”

Levi’s brow knotted. He propped his hand on his hip and tapped his toe behind his pedestal foot. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Eren was quiet, like he thought maybe the punchline was just delayed. Then his smile fell into one of his patented scowls. “Making me a key. It’s a joke. Like…”

Levi shrugged, confused as to what the point was. “How else are you supposed to get inside?”

Eren heaved a sigh and started picking up his things. “Never mind,” he muttered as he got out of the way and Levi unlocked the door.

“Is that really all you brought?” Levi asked around a yawn, shutting his fridge with an elbow as he opened a cold bottle of Icelandic Water. He was kind of being sarcastic. Eren dropped his backpack, a duffel bag, a smaller duffel bag on the couch then glanced at him sheepishly over his shoulder.

“Uh, for now?” he said.

“Okay.” Levi shrugged again. “The spare bedroom is over there…”

He couldn’t tell if Eren was listening or not. Eren just stood there in the dark living room, looking around as if he’d never been there before—or as if he was suddenly revisiting every single time he’d been there. Finally he turned around, met Levi’s eyes. He husked, “Do you think it’s going to happen again?”

Levi waited for clarification. Eren didn’t seem about to give it—oh.

“What, us having sex?” Levi grunted.  

Eren stared at him from the living room, lights from the city outside the windows catching in his fixed eyes.

“Yeah,” he confirmed after a long moment, like he had to figure out whether he wanted to admit it or not. He shoved his hands in his back pockets and rocked back on his heels absently, leaned against the couch. “That.”

Levi didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to answer. He wasn’t sure himself if it was going to happen again.

“Well, I mean, I didn’t think it would happen the first time, so.” Levi propped his elbow on one folded arm. He was starting to get a headache; the nervous tension in the quiet only seemed to sharpen the dull throb.

But—something in the hush gave way. In the living room, Eren had a look on his face that caught Levi off guard for a moment. Took him back years—to the hotel room in D.C., the way Eren had looked then, too young to be jaded yet still so full of fire. In Levi’s living room, he looked like that again. Younger, almost. Helpless. Stranded. Defeated. Hopeful at the same time. Those big, expressive eyes. The heart-shaped face. Stronger jaw now, less unpresentable hair, broader shoulders. But still just a fucking kid. A fucking kid who’d just lost his mother and—got dumped, right? 

It was a look like something in Eren had just caved, and Levi wasn’t sure whether it was good or bad.

“Hey,” Eren said softly.

“Hmm?” Levi replied.

Eren smiled just a tiny bit. Probably didn’t realize he did it. “Thanks for letting me crash here a while.”

Levi held his aching head in his free hand. _Don’t let him think you’re romantically interested, break his heart…_

“You can stay as long as you need to,” Levi hummed out on a sigh. He’d said it out of courtesy—it was the normal thing to say, even if you didn’t mean it, right? It was just socially acceptable. But the thing was… He didn’t _not_ mean it.

What the fuck did he just get himself into?

“Anyway,” Levi said brusquely, “I had like, four beers so… I’m going to go to sleep. Is that okay? Are you okay?”

Eren snapped out of the beautifully tragic moment as quickly as it had come over him, like he didn’t even know. He pouted fiercely again, waving a hand in dismissal. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m a grown man, Levi. I don’t need to be tucked in or anything.”

“You know what’ll help make it less awkward?” Levi said as he crossed over towards his room, cold water bottle under one arm.

“What?” Eren snapped from the bedroom on the opposite side of the living room.

Levi drummed his knuckles on the wall, stopped at his door. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

Before Eren could edge in one of his witty rebuttals, Levi waved a little and closed his bedroom door.

What the _fuck_ did he just get himself into.

 

 

**end ch. iii.**


	4. Out With the Sound of a Crowd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song pairing – **handsome ghost** | _weight of it all_
> 
> early update because i’m going to be super busy tonight! happy friday, guys!

“Are you okay?” Thomas asked as he passed by with his coffee, backpack on and free hand in his pocket. 

Eren cut him a sideways glance, slouched on one hand in front of his computer. “Yeah? Why?”

Thomas grinned uncertainly, shrugged, scratched at his face just along the sideburn. “Uh, well, the place is really quiet this morning. That’s all.”

Oh, right. Eren was the resident noise-maker of this grad office. Of course Thomas would think it odd he was quiet this morning; Thomas was always the one to get annoyed.

Eren sighed, face smashed into his palm as he clicked around in his e-mail.

Thomas lingered. “You have like, over two thousand e-mails in your inbox, dude. Don’t you delete anything?”

“I’m just lazy,” Eren mumbled. “The unreads aren’t important so I ignore them.”

“Long hangover or something?” Thomas asked with a very cautious laugh, like he wasn’t sure he was making conversation correctly. “Crazy Halloween?”

“No, actually,” Eren replied, sitting back with a creak of his office chair. Finally he offered Thomas real attention, smiling faintly. It wasn’t a lie. Halloween had been amazing, actually. Went out drinking in haunted bars with everyone—Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Conny, Sasha—hit up a radio-hosted haunted house and almost got stuck on Broadway with no taxis, freezing at a bus stop where someone in the apartment above a nearby building hooked mega-speakers up in the windows to blast creepy remixed music, but they made it to Reiner’s party by midnight and Eren just crashed at Armin’s when they finally got back at around four in the morning. And it wasn’t even awkward—not between him and Jean, not between him and anyone. No one treated him like the Grieving Boy in the Bubble. It was a lot of fun. He had a lot of fun. Probably shouldn’t take a drug test, but it had been…like old times. Pre-dating. Pre-breakup. Pre-death. Pre-fucking his mother’s friend and the object of his adolescent lust. And he’d really liked it.

“Halloween was all right,” Eren murmured.

“I’m glad it’s over. November’s my favorite month.” Awkwardly, Thomas patted Eren on the shoulder. “Well, I have to get to class. Feel better.”

 _Feel better._ That wasn’t about Halloween or a lingering hangover. It was about his mom. Everyone knew by now. Every-fucking-one. _Feel better._ Seriously.

Eren watched Thomas go, slumped in his chair. Still, he had to admit it was a nice gesture. Slightly weird, but nice. As Thomas left, Jean caught the door and ducked in, looking all bad boy with his wind-tousled hair and crooked collar, denim jacket, juggling his leather bag and a coffee. A grad student without coffee was a dead man walking.

“Hey,” he said when he saw Eren and hesitated just for a moment, flashing a little smile.

“Hey, you,” Eren said back, quickly returning to his e-mails to look busy.

With a squeak of wheels and a tiny creak, Jean plopped into his chair at the computer just to Eren’s left. Clatter of the keyboard as he logged into the school system. “How are you?”

“Good.” Eren cleared his throat. “You?”

“It’s a Monday.”

Eren chuckled softly—not forced, but not too natural, either. Smile falling back to aimless focus, he started to delete some of his two-thousand e-mails to keep looking busy.

A silence settled between them, the kind of silence like a held breath.

Finally Jean leaned way back in his chair, feet stretched out under his desk. He folded his hands behind his head and stared grimly at his computer, mouth in such a tight line, it gave him dimples.

“Can we talk about us, now?” he asked flatly.

Eren looked around the office. It was just them.

“I guess,” he sighed.

“I hooked up with Marco,” Jean said immediately.

Eren swung a look to him, face pinched like he’d popped five Warhead candies at once. Jean looked back soberly. Without pride. Without regret. Just—like that. Like a fucking _truce_. 

Any emotional response was either delayed or misfiring. Eren raised his brows slowly. “Sooo,” he droned. “Are you dating now, then?”

Jean shrugged, drumming his fingers on the side of his coffee cup. Now he looked a little ashamed, brow knotted.

“Don’t do that,” Eren muttered curtly. He didn’t want there to be anything left from their four-month stint, not apology or sentimentality or anything; he couldn’t handle it. It just needed to disappear and he’d be fine. “Don’t feel bad for it.”

“Wow, that sounded so reassuring.” Jean laughed, a hard and distant little sound. He sighed. “I don’t know if we’re dating yet.”

Eren’s jaw tightened. He was pissed, but he wasn’t exactly pissed it happened. They weren’t dating anymore, anyway. They weren’t even exclusive. He was just pissed that—

He shoved away from his desk, scowling. “Is that it? Why you wanted to stay casual with me? _Marco_?”

“ _You_ don’t do that,” Jean fired back. Even as Just Friends, their tempers clashed so beautifully. Like a thunderstorm. A little more personal than when they met and it was just butting heads, but still strangely unified. Jean kicked a foot up to prop at his narrow stretch of desk, rocking his chair back and forth a little. “Don’t act like I two-timed either of you. But yeah, that’s part of it. I like him, Eren. A lot. Like I liked you a lot—still like you a lot, not as a boyfriend but as _you_. I just—”

“I know.” Eren shrugged, slouching down on one folded arm. It was weird—it hurt, but it didn’t hurt. Everything was like that lately. A feeling would crest, and then just dissipate or hide. “It’s fine,” he husked thickly. “It’s over. We’re back to being friends.”

“Damn it, Eren…” Jean dragged a hand down his face, eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “I’m not going to play this game. Okay? If this is how it’s going to be, I don’t want to be your friend.”

Eren sat up, a look of betrayed horror twisting his face. Okay, _that_ hurt. Jean slid him another apologetic glance. It was like a slap in the face, stung worse than being broken up with to begin with. Low-key panic tightened in his chest. He… No. That wasn’t what Jean meant.

He just meant that if Eren kept acting this way, he’d ruin being friends.

Eren ripped his eyes away, blinking rapidly so maybe Jean wouldn’t see how deeply that had stricken him.

“You’re right,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you’re going through a lot,” Jean whispered, more to his coffee. “And I mean it when I say I feel bad I couldn’t be romantic enough for you. So I’m willing to be patient. I love you, man. I’m here.”

Ick. Eren cringed. “Okay, stop.” He laughed—and it was an honest laugh. “The ‘I love you, man’ is even more ridiculous sober.”

Jean grinned halfway like he knew that already. “So are we cool?”

 _Are we cool?_ Eren stared at his computer. He looked down at some of the magazines on his desk, the binder of class materials and the dog-eared, bookmarked books. He felt scraped raw inside.

In a good way. Fresh and empty.

Maybe he wouldn’t have felt that way if he hadn’t slept with Levi Ackerman—

Stop that right there. Can’t weight it like that. Rebound territory, crush or not.

“I’m not going to lie,” he said after a moment. “I don’t know how to answer that, Jean. I feel like shit, still. But I want to. I want to be cool again.”

Jean was back to his dimpled smiles. Maybe he did it to try to lighten the mood, get the fuck away from the serious stuff. “I think we’ll be cool sooner than later,” he decided, logging into his class portal. Offering a small smile, the kind of smile that even now made Eren relax a lot. He smiled, too, but behind his hand, hiding it. Only one thousand, nine hundred and seventy-two e-mails left to go.

* * *

Hanji always knocked twice before just opening the door and swinging in, laden with coat and alcohol and her contribution to the monthly cranky old people dinner.

“Levi!” she singsonged, kicking off her shoes at the door. “Is the big guy here yet?”

“No,” Levi called back from the kitchen over the run of water at the sink. “Should be here pretty soon.”

Hanji trundled in and deposited her things on the counter, keys jangling where they hung half out of her back pocket. “You’ll never guess what Mike did this morning,” she immediately launched into a story, leaning back against the counter and biting a hairband over her lower lip as she re-did her little sloppy half-bun. “So he gets up and it’s like, five a.m., right? The most ungodly hour of them all. And I keep telling him, ‘Watch out for the dog, he’s asleep at your side of the bed,’ and what does he do? He fucking trips over her. Flies across the room. Knocks over the entire fucking dresser—”

Levi cleared his throat, sliding his eyes around Hanji to signal the other company in his apartment.

Hanji turned, still biting her hairband, and stared at Eren—who was on one of the couches, staring back, hair wild and eyes heavy from hours of work at his computer.

“Hi,” Eren greeted.

“Oh, hello,” Hanji said cheerily, plucked her hair-tie from her teeth and finished her bun.

“I don’t think you’ve ever met Hanji,” Levi sighed. He’d been sort of dreading this for the last few hours, trying to distract himself by washing dishes and washing vegetables and just generally straightening up the house with a compulsiveness he hadn’t had in a long time. “Hanj, this is Eren.”

“Oh,” Hanji said, eyes widening. “Hello!” She spun around to give Levi a demanding look. _You invited Carla’s son who you drunk-fucked to our cranky old people dinner?_

Levi shrugged, frowning a little too guiltily not to be a pout. “Hey, check my phone,” he snapped, deflecting. “Did Erwin just text me?”

“No,” Hanji said. Levi already knew that. He was bullshitting. He didn’t want Eren to feel awkward with guests he didn’t know—guests who knew what they’d done together, God forbid they have a little too much wine and start asking questions—and he didn’t want Eren to feel overwhelmed or obligated to socialize. He was in an emotional rut. Levi knew that. But he wasn’t going to revise his own life’s routine just because Carla’s bereft son was crashing with him for a while.

He hadn’t really asked how long Eren would stay, actually. He didn’t know if…he actually cared enough to ask. Maybe he would in a few weeks. He just didn’t feel like his space was jeopardized yet. Contrary to popular belief, he was rather chill. And besides, Eren was pretty quiet and to-himself.  

Another knock on the front door.

“I got it,” Hanji blurted, and Levi slumped down at the counter to wallow in the impending awkwardness for just a moment. He could tell Hanji’s thoughts were buzzing. This is the kid he slept with? He’s here? What the fuck does that mean? _Well, Hanji, actually, we’re cohabitating right now because I feel bad for sleeping with him the night of his mother’s fucking funeral, and I kind of feel like nobody else gets us right now but each other, is that such a bad thing?_

He picked up on some tiny whispers from the doorway, under the violent clatter of laptop keys as Eren worked in the living room, tucked up on the couch. Fuck. Hanji was briefing Erwin on the situation. Whatever. Levi was doing nothing wrong. He’d answer any questions they asked and move on.

Erwin came around the corner with Hanji, smiling charmingly with raised brows and a look in his eyes like yes, the questions would come very soon.

“Oh _shit_ , it’s _you_ —” Eren sputtered suddenly, and all three in the kitchen looked to him, puzzled and slightly cautious.

Eren gawked at Erwin. Erwin stared back, hands in the pockets of his peacoat. Suddenly Eren laughed in disbelief, but then grew very serious, like a kid waiting to be lectured.

“Um, how’s your Audi?” Eren peeped.

Realization dawned on Erwin’s face. He laughed softly, in his own version of disbelief. “The insurance paid out, don’t worry. Got the check yesterday.”

“Wait, _Eren’s_ the one who hit your car?” Levi demanded. Well, that was fucking hilarious. Eren’s face pinched guiltily. His eyes jumped from Levi to Erwin like he was afraid he was in hot water.

Erwin shook his head and raised a hand. “Don’t worry about it,” he said again.

They talked and laughed and made dinner, and Eren worked in the living room, every now and again glancing their way sharply between bursts of typing, readjusting himself on the couch. When they moved to the living room with wine while dinner cooked, Eren grabbed his laptop and relocated to the kitchen counter. They moved out to the patio to smoke as drinking most often ordained, and Eren didn’t think they could see him, but Levi could.

He could see him—on the bar stool he’d scraped around into the kitchen side of the island counter. Staring. Brow low, mouth tight. Eyes, burning right into Levi. Not quite jealous. Not quite irritated. Not quite admiring. Somehow like all three, different colors swirled thoughtlessly together on a painter’s palette.

Suddenly Eren shot up from the stool and disappeared from view. Came back jerking into his jacket, gathering up his things. Levi poked his head back into the apartment.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Out,” Eren snapped. “I can’t work. You guys are really distracting me.”

* * *

Even weeknights on the Ave were some variant of shit show, but somehow Tea Republik, nestled in between tattoo parlor and Vietnamese restaurant after Vietnamese restaurant, was always a little pocket of peace and warmth and good vibes.

Eren chose a seat not far from the bar so he could talk to Mikasa while she worked.

Marco was working, too.

He made rounds around the busy little tea shop, checking on people, bringing out drinks, picking up empty dishes and mugs, chatting with college kids and regulars. Every now and again rowdy groups passed by the open door, trailing cigarette smoke and laughter.

“Hey,” Marco said with a little nice guy smile when he brought over a free drink.

Eren’s eyes cut up past him to the counter, where Mikasa was at the tablet register with a few customers. His eyes slid back over to Marco.

“She made it for you,” he said, smile tightening shyly. _Maybe you don’t know about me and Jean_ , that smile said. _But if you do, please don’t hate me._

Marco set the drink down on the table next to Eren’s armchair.

“Thanks,” Eren mumbled.

“No problem,” Marco hummed, and went back behind the counter with Mikasa.

Sweater sleeves pulled down over his palms, Eren held the hot cup of tea and stared at his computer. Marco had startled him out of his head space. He wanted it back. He really wanted it back. He had a good streak of personal writing going between class projects and grading, and he didn’t want to lose it. Especially not on this project. Especially not because he was giving in to the typical post-breakup feeling of being spurned. He and Jean had talked about it. They were cool. Well, going to be cool. It wasn’t like Marco ruined things. Eren had ruined things. Or something. Or things just weren’t meant to work out. Or…

“If you want me to…” his mom had said, five or six years ago. “I can pass your stories off to some friends of mine, some editors. And maybe…”

Eren had pretended not to be thrilled. He’d been a little embarrassed and a little nervous, and kind of unsure about how good he was. What sort of eighteen-year-old wrote romance novels in his free time? Harlequins, straight up harlequins. He wrote them to prove he could. He wrote them because they were fun and he could and he could make money with them. And maybe he wrote them because he wanted to prove that love _did_ work, people just didn’t follow the rules. Dad. Everyone.

But his mom’s friends told him they were good. His mom’s friends asked if they could pass it around to some agent friends. His mom said it had nothing to do with him being her son, but Eren had doubted that, and said, “Can you sign me under a pseudonym?”

His romance novels didn’t do nearly as well as his mother’s; they were smut books, through and through. He didn’t know how his stuff was successful at all. It was straight sex, first of all—man, and woman. Not the kind of smut with which he was firsthand experienced. But he couldn’t stop writing it. They were just so easy and who’d turn down four- or five-figure advances for just fifty thousand words of sex and cheesy one-liners?

Eren was fucking tired of it.

He had so many projects squirreled away in his Documents folders—serious projects. Projects he might actually use his real name for. A weird young adult paranormal about vampires and humans forced to unite against the threat of the zombie apocalypse. Another take on zombies created via radioactivity thanks to Cold War mistakes. Now he was trying his hand at witches—a series—he had it all planned out and tonight he was working on volume two already. WORMWOOD, ASH AND ASTER, WISTERIA. But he didn’t know if he could do anything with them. Not that he didn’t know how, just that he felt bad. His mother had worked so hard to help him get published, follow in her footsteps. She’d been so proud of him…

“Hey, you!”

Eren’s eyes flashed up. He knew that voice. That greeting.

Jean. At the bar. Not the register, the bar. Arms crossed on the top, leaning between two stools, one foot crossed behind the other and wagging lazily as Marco leaned across from the other side, lighting up in a smile like fucking sunshine. Murmurs. Eren’s stomach pinched. They were so fucking cutesy. So fucking into each other. All sweet and flirting in the most wholesome way. Openly. Excitedly. Like they’d been waiting to—

Jean turned suddenly, lighting up. “Eren!” he cried, with a little wave more like a half-salute. “You working?”

“Yes,” Eren said shortly.

“Ha, I figured by the way you look ready to murder anyone who looks at you. Babe, you need some Adderall if you really can’t focus.”

 _Babe._ It caught Eren off guard even though he knew it was just part of Jean’s normal conversation, casual names of endearment that maybe would have sounded far less natural and friendly, sleazier or more presumptuous from anyone else. But Eren was flustered and a little disoriented by it. He was always disoriented when someone interrupted an intense writing session, and then on top of it…

Armin had come in with Jean, disheveled from the blustery November night. He dropped some heavy history and archaeology textbooks on the table near Eren’s tea and flopped down in the adjacent armchair. “I have like, three papers to write!” he moaned.

Eren gave up. He jumped on the new distraction. He closed his laptop, only mildly frustrated. But there was no way he could focus now. Fuck no.

“Let me help,” he said brightly, pulling the little table over between their chairs. “What’s the topic?”

* * *

Levi really liked notes, apparently.

The apartment was quiet, dark except for the light over the stove. Dinner dishes in the sink, wine glasses drying on the counter. Levi’s bedroom door closed.

Eren stood with his bag drooping off his shoulder at the spare bedroom. Levi’s handwriting slanted neat and clean across the pale yellow Post-It note on the door.

_Eren –_

_I left food in the fridge for you in case you didn’t eat._

_I hope you didn’t inherit that too-creative-to-remember-_

_basic-needs/function-as-a-human thing from your mother_.

Who the fuck wrote that much on a fucking sticky note?

Eren put his bag down gently at the door and wandered back into the kitchen. The bright blue digital clock over the stove said it was close to one in the morning. He’d stayed a little later than he intended to at Tea Republik, wanted to wait for Mikasa to be off and then they’d just sat there in the parking lot behind the building, in her car, talking. It was always so easy to talk to her. He even let the conversation move to his mom, even let her smother him in hugs when he got a little messed up by it. He’d been rudely avoiding her comfort far too long. She just wanted to be there for him, too. She _was_ there for him. And she didn’t seem hurt by his lack of sociability the last few weeks, just…worried.

_Don’t let the feelings drown you._

He didn’t want to worry them—Mikasa and Armin.

The light from the fridge spilled out cold and white. Tightly bound in plastic wrap was a plate of food—steak, potatoes au gratin, asparagus and carrots and whatnot.

Eren sighed heavily.

He was touched by the thought, that Levi had put a plate aside for him. But he was also irritated that he was touched. He didn’t know why. Just—he didn’t need pity spare bedroom, didn’t need pity food or pity open wine bottle left on the counter with a glass and a half of red left in the bottom just for him—

Eren leaned back against the counter, nursing the wine straight from the bottle as he waited for the food to finish in the microwave. He ate at the island counter and just let the memories come.

The handful of times he’d been here over the last ten years. His mom and Levi here in the kitchen, talking. Bitching about Eren’s dad. Bitching about edits. Bitching about nasty interviewers and reviews that Levi kept saying not to look at, talking about the Mariners and TV shows and whatever else friends like them talked about. Levi at Eren’s house, brunch with his mom. Levi taking them to dinner at the Space Needle to celebrate a really big sale. Levi at his mom’s work Christmas parties. Levi, sharp and sultry eyes, smooth jaw, tight shoulders and dark, finger-combed hair that always fell back in his eyes like—like that Dimitri guy from that one movie about if the Romanov daughter survived, something like that.

And his mom…

Eren stopped where he crouched at the dishwasher, loading dirty dishes as quietly and carefully as he could, and sagged down to sit against the cupboard and bury his face in his arms. It was so weird; he felt like he couldn’t even _cry_ , just gasp and try to drag it out but the tears just burned inside. His chest ached—really, seriously ached. He never knew a chest could hurt so bad just because a guy couldn’t cry.

* * *

Levi’s alarm went off at six-thirty.

He shaved. Showered. Trudged out to make some tea.

The kitchen was clean and Eren was asleep on the couch, tangled in the comforter he’d dragged out from the spare room. The television was on, volume so low it was almost just a ringing in the ears. _X-Files_ played this early in the morning? Maybe a marathon on SyFy. Empty wine bottle on the coffee table. Little shit better be ready to replace it.

Eren looked so soft and helpless when he was asleep.

No pinch to the brow, no fiery eyes. Just silky lashes and smooth breaths, parted lips, hands curled up near his face probably drooling on Levi’s throw pillow. He’d kicked off his socks in the middle of the night; they were crumpled up, one on the floor, the other on the couch. 

Levi wasn’t quite sure why he was so drawn to him since the funeral.  

It felt like something wholly new to the world—an amalgamation of knowing Eren over the last ten years, the spark of ruthless sexual chemistry that just kept smoldering and popping since the bar, and—well, and some surprise real investment in the kid’s wellbeing.

But it wasn’t really about Eren as he’d known him before and it wasn’t just about how fucking delicious Eren was now. It was some mutation of the two. A draw that felt personal, like he already knew it, and yet also felt totally foreign and new.

No, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to dwell on it. He didn’t know what to do if it really started to matter.

Levi left the TV on and locked the front door behind himself.

**end ch. iv.**


	5. Want to Hear You Confess, Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t erase her by erasing your memories,” his dad said thickly. Eren almost choked on a defensive scoff, terrified of the way that stabbed right to his heart. “I did it well enough with you after you left, Dad.” // “Wasn’t this storage yesterday?” Eren pointed into the almost-closet room by the front door and cut Levi a confused look. “Yes,” Levi replied flatly. “I made you an office.” // Maybe he’d feel different tomorrow, maybe he wouldn’t, but he could get high on the physical contact in a moment like this. // “I’ve been doing so well not thinking about it, but—I want you again—really bad—”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there’s always time for sex against the counter okay, song pairing **chase atlantic** | _meddle about_

Eren was really hesitant to go to Professor’s Row, actually.

But it was closing in on Thanksgiving and he’d been crashing at Levi’s for about two weeks. He didn’t want to impose. He didn’t want to get used to it, either. Because he was, already. He was kind of surprised by how…comfortable it was.

But he needed to be real with himself and get back into his own house at some point, and that was sure as hell not happening until he’d gone through and made it breathable again.   

He rolled his (still dinged) car to a stop in the alley parking behind the faded brick Tudor.

Vine-draped picket archway. Mossy, pebbled walk around to the front. The cute little rustic wooden door-hanging that said _Home_ and the fern plant he’d neglected to water—he thought it would be dried up by now under the porch roof, but it wasn’t. He’d fallen on that pebbled walk, once. Back when his mom still worked late waiting tables. He’d run outside to greet her sometime around midnight, because his dad was working an overnight and the babysitter had fallen asleep. Slipped and cracked his elbow open on the stone and had to get stitches.

The sky was dark, looming. Rain sang against the windshield.

Eren hurried out of the car with his jacket over his head and slammed the door—

“Eren!” Armin’s grandpa called from next door, waving as he hobbled up his back stoop in a rain slicker. “Have you been out of town?”

Eren’s heart pinched as he stopped on his own porch, offering a smile from under his jacket. “No!” he called back through the rain. “Just staying with a friend.”

“I watered your plants for you,” Armin’s grandpa said with a different wave.  

Eren wilted with a small, pained smile. “Thank you so much!”

Inside—chipping white woodwork and original crystal knobs, the creak of the floor, scrapes on the wall in the dining nook where Eren had always scooted his chair back too fast and too hard from the table. That place near the sink where, years ago, when they were in grade school, he and Armin had sat and ate the entire bowl of raw brownie batter even though his mom said not to, they’d get sick. Which they did. The window over the sink where Eren would watch his dad pass by to the back door through the damp dark and Eren would pretend he hadn’t been waiting for him to get home, run up and cling to his side barely tall enough to breach his belly. _Eren, what are you doing out of bed?_ Making sure he got home safely and nothing got him in the dark outside. _What a little soldier!_

He didn’t know why he remembered that one night specifically. Maybe because it was close to when his dad had stopped passing by the window for good.

The smell of long-ago burned candles and scattered potpourri. Closed-up Seattle house. And the ringing silence. Deafening. Buzzing violently in Eren’s ears.

Just a few months ago, this place had felt like home. And now Eren felt like he couldn’t breathe in it.

He ran his fingers along the wall and stood under familiar family pictures framed in glinting silver. Shuffled through the rack of CDs, house full of rainy day bluish-gray shadows, no lights on. Eren didn’t want the silence. He dragged out an Aerosmith CD and put it on.

It was weird cleaning on a Friday night. Sundays had always been cleaning days. Wipe down the kitchen counters, sweep the floors, mop the floors, straighten up the living room…

_Yeah, you drive me crazy, crazy, crazy for you, baby…_

Eren had the Windex in one hand and a wad of paper towels in the other when he slowed to a stop in front of the hall mirror, glancing idly over his reflection. He looked worn out, dark circles under his eyes and face kind of pale, kind of empty.

Looked like his mom.

Why couldn’t she have just stayed home that day—?

The front doorknob squeaked hesitantly, like someone outside tested to see if it was locked or not. Eren’s dad came in with his umbrella tucked under one arm and raindrops freckled across his broad shoulders, bringing with him the cold air of a wet autumn evening.

Eren stared at him from the hall. “You’re late,” he said.

His dad offered a smile, wire-rim glasses shifting on his nose as he raised his brows. But he quickly understood Eren was not eager to see him at all. “I’m sorry,” he replied, still smiling awkwardly as he closed the door behind him.

“Don’t track any shit in on the floors,” Eren said. “I just cleaned them. You know only tourists use umbrellas?”

His dad looked at him quickly, caught between being irritated or injured. He apparently chose neither, brow creasing as he softened into another awkward but tentatively worried smile. “You’re so much like her, making fun of me for using my umbrella, too.”

_So much like her._

“Because it’s dumb,” Eren grumbled, and ducked into the bathroom to clean the mirror.

His dad turned off the music. Eren gritted his teeth, annoyed. “What do you want help with?” his dad called. “Just cleaning?”

Eren didn’t really know what to say. He still wasn’t even sure why he’d told his dad to meet him in the first place. It had been so many years since they’d all lived here together and it felt weird having him there.

“Just whatever,” he called back unenthusiastically.

“You haven’t been staying here, have you?” His dad moved into the hall, across from the bathroom still wearing his long coat with the camel wool collar that made him look like a detective or something. “I stopped by earlier this week and you weren’t here. You know, if it’s too hard, I…”

Eren shot him a dirty look for presuming as much. Even though it was right.

“You can stay with me,” his dad finished.

“Hell, no,” Eren husked. “In fact, I think I’m going to sell the place.”

His dad bristled, reared back gently. “Eren,” he sputtered, “you can’t do that—”

Eren threw the Windex bottle down and turned to scowl at his father. “Why not?”

“Because this is where you grew up!”

A volatile pause struck a new ring to the quiet.

He didn’t actually want to sell the place. He was being spiteful. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to think about it.

His dad’s jaw tightened. “You can’t erase her by erasing your memories,” he said thickly. “That’s not how grieving works.”

Eren almost choked on a defensive scoff, terrified of the way that stabbed right to his heart. “Thanks, Dad,” he sneered. “You’re a floor director at Swedish, not a psychiatrist. Plus, I did it well enough with you after you left.”

His dad didn’t argue. He just stood there, studying Eren with distant guilt stamped across his face. Eren wilted, throat raw with emotion. He was being cruel. He knew that. His hands shook. It was like all the bad feelings just surged inside him without a name or a color or anything to define them, just _there_ all of a sudden, with a will of their own. Inarticulate and boiling.

“I can’t live here right now, Dad,” he said, embarrassed by how his voice quivered. “There are too many memories. I just want to pack everything up so it doesn’t feel like a fucking tomb in here. I’m staying with Levi, so it’s fine.”

Eren caught the curiosity in his dad’s quick glance. Like he thought he recognized the name, but wasn’t sure. Like he thought it was a boyfriend or something and was scrambling to remember as much before Eren realized he forgot important details like who was or was not in his son’s life.  

“Mom’s friend,” Eren clarified.

“I’m worried about you.” Man, his dad didn’t miss a fucking beat.

“Jesus, what is that supposed to mean?” Eren mumbled, brushing past him.

His dad was quiet for a moment. He cleared his throat. He said kindly, “Are you ready to eat? We can go wherever you want. I don’t care about price.”

Eren pulled his coat from the couch and tightened his hands in it. He pouted. He wasn’t angry now, just annoyed like he was fifteen all over again. Get out. He needed to get out of the house. He locked the front door and elbowed out the kitchen one, lighting a cigarette with adrenaline-chilled hands.  

“You coming?” he demanded from the threshold as his dad came back down the hallway, turning out lights and looking very tired all of a sudden. “I guess we can go somewhere really expensive, if you’re paying,” he conceded grumpily, and he let his dad put a hand on his back as he locked the kitchen door after them.

* * *

Eren had been waiting all day for the _I’m sorry about last night_. The whole Levi’s friends thing, ruining Eren’s writing time.

By the time he got back from dinner with his dad, he still hadn’t heard it. And he figured Levi really didn’t care. Which was fine with him. It wasn’t like it was _his_ space they invaded; Levi could do whatever he wanted in his place. And it felt pretty typical of the cool, aloof attitude Eren remembered in him—was rediscovering every day around him.

But he still thought it would be nice of Levi to acknowledge it.

Eren breezed in, pausing only to kick off his shoes, throw his spare key on the table by the door.

“So guess what I did,” he called, coming around the corner. Levi was at his desk with his laptop, under one of the big windows with the mind-boggling view of downtown and the water. “I accidentally fucked myself into dinner with my dad—”

Eren stopped. He backtracked. He stopped again, squinting into the tiny little room just to the left of the front door, which was open, with a compact desk against one wall, and a small rolling chair, an empty bookshelf, a table lamp that had once been on the kitchen counter.

Eren pointed into the almost-closet room and cut Levi a confused look. “Wasn’t this storage yesterday?” he grunted.

Levi threw his pen down and turned halfway, one arm slung over the back of his chair as he frowned at Eren from across the apartment. He cocked a brow like he didn’t understand Eren’s lack of understanding.

“Yes,” Levi replied flatly. “I made you an office.”

Eren let his bag sag down to the floor at his feet, face twisting in—well, it almost felt like panic, just this tangle of emotions with which he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Was he happy? Was he irritated? Why did he suddenly feel so fragile?

“Why did you do that?” he demanded.

Levi raised his brows very slowly. “Because you needed it,” he said only a little more slowly than that.

Oh, that was what it was—yes, Eren felt very vulnerable. He _was_ very vulnerable today. And he was flustered, more than that. Really, really touched that Levi had thought about him. And then immediately after, he was utterly suspicious of pity again and embarrassed of how much the gesture had touched him, punched him right in the tender place where he apparently still crushed _hard_ on Levi.

“You don’t have to do nice things for me,” he mumbled, stubbornly. “Or like, force yourself to be comfortable with me staying here.” The words rushed one over the other nervously. “I’m not staying forever.”

“How long are you staying, then?” Levi asked, and Eren couldn’t tell if it was sarcastic or honestly curious.

“I—” Eren frowned. “Uh—well, I don’t know, but—you don’t have to go out of your way for me.”

“I said stay as long as you need to, didn’t I?”

“Well, just tell me if I’m here too long. I can crash with Armin, or…”

“It’s all junk I already had in there,” Levi argued, turning back to his work with an impatient wave of the hand. “It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. It’s not like I really had anything in that closet, anyway.”

Eren stood there, feeling very hollow and strange. All right, Levi was just doing something nice. Just because he was the type of guy who came across all standoffish and uninterested didn’t mean he wasn’t nice. He just kept his thoughts to himself. He was just taking care of him. Maybe as a person, maybe for his mom, maybe to repent for what happened the night of the funeral—

Eren turned the light off in the office and took his bag to the kitchen counter.

“Hey,” he said as he slid onto one of the bar stools. “Do you have any more wine?”

Levi turned around slowly, squinting at Eren across the living room. “You’re not going to use the office?”

Oh, shit. He seemed offended. Eren smiled in uncertainty. “Well, there’s no distractions right now,” he mumbled penitently. “I’ll use it. I promise. I really appreciate it.”

Levi sighed, raking a hand through his hair and down the side of his face. But there was a measure of relief there; Eren saw it. Levi pointed to the wine rack. “Open a bottle. It’s yours.”

* * *

Levi shut his laptop and leaned back, rubbing at his eyes and the bridge of his nose with pinched fingers. Eleven o’clock. Finished the first round of this manuscript. So many notes on Track Changes that Word was acting a little funky. Glorious. But he was done. The feeling of being done was like the feeling after sex—a whole-body exhaustion, head light, nerves sizzling—

“These fucking _suck_ ,” Eren blurted from the kitchen counter, voice loose and careless from two and a half lowballs of red wine.

Levi smiled faintly, amused. He pushed away from his desk and drifted over into the kitchen for a glass himself. Just a small one, after-book cigarette, shower then bed.

“What sucks?” he husked. He took the last of Eren’s wine instead. Eren didn’t seem ready to finish it anytime soon; if he did, he’d be past wine-buzzed and into sloppy. He’d taken a break only for a shower himself, perched now with one foot tucked under a knee and the other wagging idly, still smelling like body wash and cologne in his crew neck sweatshirt and—just boxer briefs. Black with light blue stripes, matching waistband. The only salvation for his real age was his reading glasses, and even then too hipster for Levi to take him seriously when he wasn’t a bit distracted by the way his sweatshirt flirted with his tailbone.

Eren knotted a hand in his hair, exasperated. “Do they not teach grammar anymore? These kids aren’t even that much younger than me—some of them are like, twenty-one!” He pointed out misused words dramatically. “And look at this fragment, like—what? This is bullshit.” He tried to write something on a paper. Scribbled hard in little circles. Threw down his ballpoint. “I need a new pen!” he spat, and it was almost a whine.

Levi snorted, tried to choke back the laugh. But it escaped in one or two soft chuckles. “You are the crankiest person I have ever met, and I’ve met myself.”

Eren scowled like he actually wanted to smile. “Hey, where did my drink go?”

“I’m cutting you off.”

“Are you serious? No Indian giving.”

“God, that’s so incredibly racist, it’s not even funny.”

Eren sank down into one arm and let the other drape across his temple. He smiled aimlessly as he laid there on the counter for a moment, then pulled off his reading glasses and pushed them to the side. A soft silence settled, one in which no talking was necessary. And it was kind of nice.

“What class are you grading for?” Levi murmured, finally.

“Comp I,” Eren replied.

“What else do you teach?”

“Form and Tech of Fiction.” 

“Do they know you’re published?”

“No, remember? That’s why I use a pen name.”

“I have to hand it to you…” Levi sighed, drumming his finger on the wine glass. “I could never teach. I can’t stand idiots.”

Eren nodded a little. Levi didn’t like the look on his face. It was the look of someone receding like the tide, pulling into themselves. Into thoughts that would swallow them. He smiled and Levi didn’t like how sadness and shyness could mix into something so beautiful. He wanted to kiss it away. Levi wasn’t a therapist. He didn’t know what stage of grief Eren was at. But he didn’t really want to just ignore it, either. He waited for a sign he should back off and let the kid be for the night. Take it in stride, at his pace. Deal with his own sadness when it crested, now and again, and let Eren’s crash in when it needed to.

“You know,” Eren murmured. “It’s actually really nice staying with you.”

“Yeah?” Levi cleared his throat, a little twist of a smile pinching at his mouth as he drained the last of the wine in the glass.

“Yeah,” Eren echoed, idly drumming his palm on the counter. “I can just…breathe.”

He fell quiet on a breath as if more words waited, staring at his hand, brows knotted.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he said flatly. “Maybe I’m rebounding. Maybe I’m not. And I’ve been doing so well not thinking about it, but—I want you again. Really bad.”

Levi almost swallowed the wine wrong.

Eren’s eyes flickered up again to fix with his, heated hazel and so resolute. Levi wasn’t sure how he managed that—how he could say that so seriously, so un-sexy, that it actually became something sensual in its tactless honesty. The flip-side of bold come-ons, the underrated side. Didn’t always have to be wild and reckless. Could be as simple as that, like a secret, a little thoughtful sigh: _I want you_.

Levi leaned on one elbow, hand to his mouth as he studied Eren from the corner of his eye. God, it was so weird—how there was something so familiar about him and yet it just— _I want you…_

Levi cleared his throat again and dropped his hand, lazily stroking the side of the empty wine glass with a finger or two.

“Yeah, well, you know…” he murmured. “I understand that.”

Quiet, very quiet. Just staring. Eren’s perfect lips barely moved under his unwavering eyes as he whispered, “So what about a no strings attached sort of thing?” 

Levi raised his brows sharply. He hadn’t expected that, that was for sure. _Better not let him think…_ He didn’t know what to say. He swallowed, brow knotting. Boundaries. Yes. Casual sex. No need to feel guilty, or uncomfortable, or obligated, or even try to stifle the obvious spark between them. He was fine with that. He liked that. He sort of preferred things a little more defined, but—he didn’t really know how safe it was to go there yet.

But Eren was finally openly acknowledging it—the mutual attraction. Accepting it. Consenting to it.

God damn it, he had not been prepared for this. He could appreciate a man’s attractiveness from afar, arbitrarily, without feeling the need to act on it, but he had not—not ever, not once—thought he’d be so defenselessly attracted to Carla’s son. God, just wanted to touch him again. Taste him. Smell him. After all these years, back in each other’s lives and under such fucked up circumstances…

Levi took a deep breath and let it out slowly, sighing through his nose. His hand fell still on the glass and he caught Eren’s eyes again, unyieldingly.

“The only real stipulation,” he said. “Don’t fall in love with me.”

Something shifted in Eren—excited, flirtatious. He tipped his head back, sending Levi a playful but mildly cautious glance. “Are you making fun of me?” he said with a little half-smile. “Throwing a Nicholas Sparks line at me like that?”

Oh, well shit. Levi laughed, shaking his head. “No,” he muttered. “I didn’t think about that. But I mean it.” 

Eren’s big, heated eyes. Lips parted. An arresting look—a little frightening for its intensity, incredibly alluring for its sensuality. Fingers laced on the countertop. Foot wagging. The low light of the kitchen and the track lights over the living room softened him beautifully. He pushed his tongue to his teeth in thought and Levi’s heart gave a little lurch. The rusty adrenaline of longing tingled in his fingertips.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Eren murmured in a way that screamed about curiosity killing the cat.

Heat sparked in Levi’s cheeks. Fuck. He really wasn’t making this any easier for himself, was he?

 _Do you think it’s going to happen again? It was an accident…_  

He gently pushed the empty wine glass away and slid off the bar stool. At the same time, Eren pushed back from the counter—yielded to Levi with a gentle sway as Levi wound him in and caught his mouth in a soft but impatient kiss. Opened his mouth, tipped his head. Tasted like red wine and metal—Levi knew that tang. It was on the back of his tongue, too. Careful lust. 

Eren’s fingers hooked in Levi’s belt loops as Levi’s slipped up under his sweater, dragged on the fever-hot skin there at the small of his back. Kissing. Kissing. Eren’s arms drifted up, hands exploring Levi’s hair, the back of his neck. Finally they just settled folded around Levi’s neck as he pressed closer, closer. Scrape of the bar stool on the tile. Kissing. Slow, and deep. Passionate like sex appeal was when it was lazy and warm and intimate. _God._

Levi nosed off into the nape of Eren’s neck, nipping and kissing at the hot, silky skin there. Fuck, he smelled so good. Sweet and sharp, like summer. Like childhood. Which sounded ridiculous but it was more that the smell summoned those feelings and Eren’s breath was quickening—he really liked Levi in his neck—frantically he searched out Levi’s mouth and—ah, there it was. Now the passion was hungry. Impatient. A _need_.

Levi nudged away one of the bar stools without looking, clutching Eren as Eren clutched back. Hands moving, fingers tightening, sliding up under Levi’s shirt and thumbs moving over the lines of his ribs. Backed up against the counter with a little grunt, an arch of the body. The feel of Eren’s ass in nothing but boxer briefs sent sparks through Levi’s nerves. He was already getting hard. Jesus Christ.

Bodies, twisting. Hot, flushed skin under elastic waistband. Eren’s fingers dove into Levi’s pants, swirled at his hip bones. Fumbled at his fly. Breathless, biting kisses. Slow press of tongue.

“Come on, come on,” Eren whined in Levi’s ear, shuddering with every tight stroke of Levi’s hand. And God, it drove Levi wild. Eren ripped at Levi’s pants button. It knocked Levi off balance; he caught himself with both palms against the counter.

Eren’s hands hit the counter next— _slap_ on faux granite. Trembling. Burning. Tickle of shorts slipping down between their legs to his ankle as Levi held him steady with one hand on a smooth, supple side, the other hand guiding, gently, easing, prompting—up against the island counter. Christ, Eren hijacked every shred of sense in his body and left him electrified. Hot, hard—Eren groaned, shoulders hunched. Out, thrust. So tight on him. Deeper. Eren stretched back towards Levi, breathless, face flushed, white knuckling the edge of the counter, body rocking to the rhythm. Every heartbeat pulsed through Levi’s veins down to his hips and Eren almost knocked a stool over trying to prop his foot up on its lowest rung. Yes, better angle—good idea—skin sticky, soft sweet pinch branching through his gut—

The stool squeaked against the floor. Hips moving of their own accord, just wanted to get deeper. His toes curled. He forgot about the way his thighs burned. What a fucking workout. A series of shivers running through him like voltage. Too hot to breathe with his face pressed into the slope between Eren’s neck and shoulder. Mouth open. Teeth and hungry kisses on sweet skin as he came. His hand found Eren in front, fever-hot and so ready, jacked him off nice and slow. Stroke, squeeze. Precome, warm on his finger for only a breath or two.

Eren’s body jerked and he crumpled forward against the counter, clutching, knees buckling.

“Shit—” Levi hissed through his teeth. In part because the way Eren’s body rolled on him was a bit too much too soon, and in second part because he scrambled to tent a hand and keep from making too much of a mess, and in third part because it always swept him off his feet to be able to make someone…feel that good.

It was like—bodies speaking to bodies, stripped of everything but their own skin.

It felt so much purer to Levi than saying _I love you_.

“Okay!” Eren gasped, practically grimaced. Uttered a pleased little whine of a final groan. “Okay, okay—I’m done!”

They both shook as they unfolded from one other, separated, became two instead of one again.

Eren leaned against the counter to catch his breath, head tossed back and eyes closed. He wiggled his fingers like maybe they ached from holding the faux granite so hard. Levi tucked himself back into his shorts, left his pants open. The muscles in his lower back felt close to spasming from the position but God _damn_ , it had been worth it.

They lingered.

Eren, curled forward. Levi’s arms around his middle, face to his shoulder. Itchy body heat—heart pounding. Slowing.

Eren took a long breath and let it out in a slow, satisfied sigh.

Awkwardly—or maybe just carefully, so Eren didn’t think it meant anything more than what it was—Levi brushed tousled hair out of his eyes and pressed a kiss to his temple, his ear.

Maybe he’d feel different tomorrow, maybe he wouldn’t, but he could get high on the physical contact in a moment like this.

“Holy shit,” Eren said on another long sigh.

Levi smiled faintly, raked hair out of his own eyes with still-weak fingers. “Oh, yeah?” He rubbed at his face next, wandered out of the kitchen. “I’m going to shower, then head to bed, okay?”

“Holy _shit_ …” Eren croaked again, and in the last glance over his shoulder Levi saw him swiping at some come still tacky on his inner thigh, looking rather inconvenienced in the most adorable way.

 

 **end ch. v.**  


	6. The Emotion Inside of Me, Out of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t want to erase her, he just wanted to pack her things up to keep her in a place where he could find her when he wanted to instead of running into her all over the place all the damn time. // “I said get up,” Levi demanded. “Get pants on. We’re going out.” // He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to feel. He just wanted to touch and be touched. // The kid was a mess. And Levi knew what it was like. “Okay,” he husked. “I can do that.” // --I want to be irrelevant.-- // If nothing mattered, why care? Or—why not care, because if nothing mattered, there was nothing to lose, right?

Eren didn’t know what he was doing with the house.

The Tudor, his mom’s house, the house he’d lived in for as long as he could remember. Until the last month or so.

He went to clean it. He always meant to just clean it, make it look like no one lived in it, packing and unpacking and repacking things in a different order. He wanted it to feel new before he came back to it. Why was he packing his mom’s room? He closed the door. He sat in the living room. He sat in his old bedroom. He didn’t want to admit to himself that he was trying to cover up the fact that she’d lived there, and he didn’t want to admit to himself that he was trying too early to move on. He sat cross-legged on her bed, looking through photo albums. He cried a little bit, alone. Nothing dramatic and nothing too cleansing. Just little burning tears he ground away with a palm or his knuckles. He didn’t feel sad, actually. He felt angry. Angry at who? Not the guy in the Titan. Not his mom. Maybe himself for being so powerless. Things could change so swiftly and he could do nothing about it. Nobody could do anything about it. If nothing mattered, why care at all? Or—why _not_ care, because if nothing mattered, there was nothing to lose, right?

Eren felt a little stuck between the two ideas. He thought maybe—no, he _knew_ his mom would give him a little smack on the shoulder and say, “The second one, obviously. Don’t you ever say that again.”

He really didn’t want to erase her.

So maybe he packed her things up to cage her, keep her contained in a place where he could find her when he wanted to instead of running into her all over the place all the damn time. 

_Mom._

Back in Levi’s apartment, Eren sat nestled into the soft brown suede of the couch, swaddled in a throw blanket and flipping through TV channels. He stopped on the news because it was the one thing his mom hated to watch. The soggy Seattle day was dimming down into a soggy Seattle evening, light fading fast through the taller buildings around Levi’s.

Levi came home with a jangle of keys in the little ceramic dish on the table by the door. Smooth, strong stride around the corner into the kitchen. Scrape of his leather bag on the counter.

He strutted over between the couch and his work desk, hands in his pockets. He stared at the TV. He looked at Eren, in that default gently unamused way of his. Mouth in a firm line, eyes hooded. Brow ready to cock.

“Where’d you get that blanket?” he asked.

“My house,” Eren replied.

Levi squinted at him. His mouth twisted to one side in thought. He didn’t say anything.

“It’s been one month,” Eren explained with a little sigh even though Levi didn’t ask. He needed to remind himself why it sucked so much today. “I went over there earlier and…” He trailed off because he didn’t really know what else he wanted to say.

Levi moved away without a word. Eren frowned at the TV. Well, that was helpful. Not. Whatever. It was fine. He didn’t expect Levi to understand all the way—it was his mother, and she’d only been Levi’s friend, but he wasn’t obligated. Eren had no idea how Levi worked with sadness, he was so hard to read. Besides, it was his shit to deal with, he couldn’t expect anyone else to shoulder the—

 _Fwump_.

Eren’s coat landed on his head. He pulled it off, blinking rapidly in surprise. “What the fuck?” he grunted.

“You need to get out,” Levi asserted. “Let’s go to dinner.”

“What the fuck?” Eren repeated himself a bit more kindly, twisting around and seeking out Levi’s eyes in a meek, miserable way. It was true, anyway. He’d become quite the hermit the last few weeks. Mikasa and Armin were nagging at him about it—nagging in the right way, at least. Worried for him. Said they missed hanging out off campus, outside of Tea Republik. But Eren just couldn’t motivate himself to do much but sit around working on this or that assignment, maybe this or that project. 

Ah, there was the subtle, characteristic brow cock.

“I said get up,” Levi demanded. “Get pants on. We’re going out.”

* * *

_2008._

Eren opened the door looking the very definition of sixteen-year-old doom and gloom, a hostile light in his hazel eyes like sparks of some caged fire. “She’s in the shower,” he snapped, holding the door for Levi to come in and remove his shoes and drape his jacket over his arm.

Carla’s ex-husband frowned from the armchair, leaned forward against his knees with his hands laced loosely and the living room lights catching on his glasses.

Levi cleared his throat. “Grisha,” he greeted.

“How are you?” Grisha replied with a pinched smile, all broad shoulders and ponytail at the nape of his neck, which very awkwardly clashed with his Dillard’s sweater and nice slacks.

Obviously the guy couldn’t really place Levi in any moment of real recognition that warrant a first-name basis, very suspicious of his presence.  

Eren scowled as he pushed the front door shut with a shameless slam. “This is Mom’s editor, Dad,” he snapped.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Levi said, holding his jacket and his satchel up and away as he skirted between Eren and the sofa and hurried out of the living room.

“I just don’t understand why you don’t want to do something more practical.”

“What, you want me to be a doctor like you?”

“I didn’t say _that_ , but I would certainly support it—”

“Instead of a writer like Mom, right? That’s what this is about?”

“I didn’t say that, either.”

“You don’t have to. I can fucking tell.”

“Eren, please.”

Levi stood with his back to the wall in Carla’s kitchen, out of sight and eavesdropping. One hand in his pocket, the other cradling a glass of water close, thumb tensely but soundlessly tapping the side. He hadn’t expected Carla’s ex-husband to be over when he came to discuss some structural edits—and he really hadn’t expected to walk in on a very heated argument between him and Carla’s son. Well, Grisha’s son, too, anyway.

“You think I’m being lazy, right? Like Mom is lazy. Just sitting around playing make-believe all impractical and shit.”

“Your mother is extremely hardworking.”

“But not as hardworking as Frieda, right?”

There was a tight, uncomfortable pause. Grisha’s tone was much different than before it when he finally said, “Frieda works hard, too, yes. It’s a lot of work, being a nurse.”

Eren’s words thickened in his throat. “You know what else is a lot of work? Writing. You know what people get paid for? _Writing_.”

“Eren, you’re a lucky young man. You’ve had a very comfortable life. I just don’t want you to take it for granted. I don’t want you to feel pressured—”

“See?” Eren cried, voice cracking. “This _is_ about Mom! You think she’s some kind of shut-in mooch off society or something because you don’t think being an author is _practical_ —”

“What do you write?” Grisha retorted firmly.

Silence. Levi’s throat was tight, face set in a dark frown. Couldn’t help but take some secondhand offense at that. He glared across the dimly-lit kitchen, clutching his glass of water so tightly, he could actually feel his fingertips leaving smudges. He could sense Eren’s fury—dejection—shame and frustration—even around the corner. It was obvious.

There was a rustling. A squeak of chair springs. Grisha’s heavy footsteps on the floor and the sound of his coat swooped off the back of the couch.

“I just don’t want you to…” Finding the words. The quiet loomed. “I know you love your mother very much, and always want to be there for her. But I just don’t want you to isolate yourself like she does. I don’t want you to regret anything. At least—honestly, you’re stubborn and I know I can’t change your mind, but at least write _real_ books, Eren. Please. That will get you so much farther than romance novels.”

Eren was still silent. Fuming, probably. Levi could picture his face; he’d seen the kid furious a few times.

“Tell your mother I’ll call her later about your car. I know she’s very busy with work. And think about which one of the three you want, too.”

Awkward, patient hush. The door opened. Grisha sighed. He left.

Quietly, very quietly, Levi moved over to the table and set his things down.

Eren caught him, anyway.

“How are you, Levi?” he asked, voice scratchy and sort of flat, emotionless, where he slouched in the kitchen doorway with his arms crossed and a hot, glassy look to his eyes like he was two seconds from throwing fists or bursting into tears. He knew Levi had been listening.

Levi sat down and leaned back with a little creak of the chair, folding his own arms across his chest comfortably. “I’m all right. You?”

“He’s got a new girlfriend,” Eren seethed, and Levi had never heard someone speak so gently but coldly at the same time. He didn’t reply. Just raised his brows very slowly.

“I don’t get it,” Eren snapped. It seemed more to himself, eyes low, face twisted. “I don’t understand what happened between them.” His parents. “Why all of a sudden they hate each other. I mean, civilly. It could be worse. But I don’t understand why they just stopped _caring_ about each other back then.”

Levi rubbed at the side of his neck, frowning. “It just happens sometimes, kiddo,” he muttered kindly. “I can’t tell you why, either.”

Eren ruminated on this, glowering at the linoleum. Down the hall, the shower turned off and it was just the sound of Carla’s radio, fuzzy, muffled from the bathroom.

Voice faint and distant, Eren said, “It’s just—they must have done something wrong along the way. They didn’t do it right.”

Levi didn’t have a chance to ask what he meant. Eren pushed off the doorway by his shoulder and stalked away to his room. 

* * *

_Present._

Eren didn’t really expect anything fancy, but he didn’t expect a little hole in the wall Thai place, either. Levi didn’t seem like that kind of guy. Then again, he didn’t _not_ seem like that kind of guy.

Down on Fremont, where Levi had miraculously found a parking spot on a Sunday night, a little place on the corner with pretty partitions and gold wall hangings. They ate at a booth in the back, where Eren could slump down and watch the cars and the Sunday night bar runners out the windows.

Levi was on his phone for a little bit after food came, and Eren ate slowly, eyeing him in the low light as his thumbs moved fast, businessman focused.

“Your food’s going to get cold,” Eren said.

Levi looked up like he didn’t realize their dishes had even arrived. He turned his phone off. Put it into his coat pocket. Took a moment to sip at his green tea, little perk of an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry.”

Eren watched him for a moment as he broke his chopsticks and tossed his curry a bit. He hoped his staring wasn’t obvious. “Were you working?”

“Yeah.” Levi nodded. “I had a few urgent e-mails.”

Eren nodded, too, idly. He wasn’t really hungry, but he was trying. “So… You’ve always lived in Seattle?” he asked. Lame. Lame as fuck. But he figured he might as well try to make conversation. He didn’t really know what else to do.

Levi blew on the food in his chopsticks, looking far less opposed to talking than Eren had expected. “God, forever. I moved up here from Eugene with my uncle when I was a kid.”

“Oregon?”

“Yeah.” Levi’s eyes flickered up to meet Eren’s. “How do you like the English program at UW?”

“It’s a lot of fun. Grad’s a lot more fun than undergrad, though.” Eren poked at his food to separate some of the bean sprouts from the noodles.

“It always is.” Levi nodded to himself. “I loved it. I used to live up here, on the other side of I-5. Back then—you know, Y2K-era, this was practically a different city.”

A small silence fell—not uncomfortable, but shy. Felt like Levi was just as apprehensive of getting to know Eren on a friendly basis as Eren was with him, like it jeopardized the ease of kind of still being strangers. Jeopardized the whole _It was an accident to sleep together_ thing. The whole _We just had sex against the kitchen counter_ No Strings thing.  

“Did your mom have anything in the works?” Levi murmured.

Eren cast him a puzzled look, but then he understood. “Oh, um…” He shrugged, clearing his throat. But it was hard to get a lump in it with the heat from phad Thai spices. “I think so, but… Really early stages.”

“What about you?”

Eren shrugged again, giving up on eating and just leaning back to nurse his glass of water. “Kind of sort of. Like, a mafia-espionage kind of thing. Totally cheesy. Totally cliché. But everyone loves car chases and guns and sex.”

Levi smirked. “True.”

“I don’t know when I’ll finish it. My agent’s going to kill me.”

“Hey, she needs to understand every writer deserves a slump or two.”

“Yeah, but romance novels are like—bam, bam, bam, crank them out or you’re irrelevant.”

 _I want to be irrelevant_.

He couldn’t say it. He didn’t think Levi would care too much if he said it, anyway, but he just couldn’t. He’d stress about it later, after finals week, probably, when he and his agent had their little “state of the union” exchange.

The waiter came by with more cold water. “One check?”

Eren perked up, fumbling for his wallet. “Two, pl—”

“One,” Levi said, debit card already out and between his fingers like a throwing knife. Eren was too startled to protest further in time, gawking as the waiter nodded and went off with the card.

The quiet between them tightened.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Eren edged out finally.

Levi shrugged.

“Seriously.” Eren pointed. “Now I feel really shitty for not eating all my food.”

“It’s my treat,” Levi muttered under a sigh, gathering up his coat. “I’m not taking home leftovers, either. Don’t sweat it.”

* * *

“Are you sad about it?”

Levi looked up from the loveseat, perpendicular to the longer sofa for the illusion of a wraparound. He wasn’t working tonight, just sort of browsing on his laptop while Eren kept distracting himself with the television, school papers forgotten on his lap and pen limp in his fingers. But now he was sort of looking at Levi from the corner of his eye, in that guarded, haunting way of his that Levi just couldn’t decipher.

_Are you sad?_

“About what?” Levi asked, wagging his foot, crossed at the ankle with the other on the ottoman.

“My mom.”

Levi’s face pinched immediately, slightly offended. “Of course I’m fucking sad,” he cut back, then realized Eren wasn’t accusing him of not being so. He just needed someone to talk to about it. Great. Levi sighed.

“She was a really good friend of mine…” Levi crossed his arms loosely and leaned back into the couch. “I don’t have very many good friends. I have a handful of friends who are—you know, basically family. But good friends who aren’t just acquaintances… Not really. So…” He shrugged. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sad. And maybe it won’t stop hitting me at the weirdest moments.”

Eren fiddled with his pen for a moment or two, ruminating. Twenty-four and still wearing his thoughts from head to toe.

“I feel like I don’t even miss her yet,” he husked, brow knotting in stunted dismay. “I know she’s gone. I feel she’s gone. I just feel like I don’t know where she _went_.”

The words hooked something small and sore in the pit of Levi’s chest—

1993\. Musty funeral parlor. Yellow lights in plastic sconces. Floral carpet and paneled walls, upholstered chairs that reeked like a casino. His mother. Looked so relaxed. Cleaned the blood but didn’t think to fix the chipping nail polish on her short fingernails—

“I know exactly what you mean,” Levi said, voice coarse but not ungentle.

He wasn’t fucking heartless, anyway, and it wasn’t like he didn’t care about Eren. He wasn’t quite sure what Eren meant to him yet, but in just a month or so the kid had successfully…infiltrated his world. He couldn’t just ignore that. Eren was just there now, when he hadn’t been before. And Levi really didn’t mind. Maybe he didn’t mind because Eren had only been staying with him for a few weeks; maybe he’d mind later, but right now it was all right. First and foremost, the kid was clean. He was quiet. He wasn’t clingy. He was—suddenly more than just someone Levi happened to know, more than just Carla’s son, Carla’s prodigy writer. Eren was a familiar laugh now, a series of recognized gestures and glances. A shared routine. A pattern of unique little habits.

A puzzle finally patching itself together after only random, mismatched pieces that had come up over the years. 

Eren was growing on him—like a little modern day eromenos or something. Something with meaning. 

And maybe Levi was starting to suspect—no, realize—that apart from the mutual…chemistry, finally acknowledged, finally accepted, they had much more in common than either of them expected.

_I know exactly what you mean._

Eren looked at Levi darkly like he wanted to believe him but really didn’t know if he did.

Levi heaved a sigh. Fine. If he really had to—

“My mom died before I was really even in middle school,” Levi muttered. “So yeah.” He shrugged. “I get it.”

Eren’s eyes widened gently and his hand twitched on his pen, but he was statuesque otherwise. “How?” Almost instantly he realized how tactless that had been; he shook his head and wilted a little, propping an elbow on the back of the couch and running a hand through his hair as his gaze turned innocent and apologetic and he said, “How did she die, I mean?”

“Overdose.” Levi scratched idly at his cheek and switched which foot was crossed over the other.

Eren looked winded. Like he wasn’t sure how to process _overdose_ in the context of their lives. Levi didn’t blame him; the word felt hollow by now. He watched it as it sank into him: death of a mother. The grieving. The trauma. The shared experience. The unfairness of it all and the unfairness of his brooding in the grand scheme of things.

“It’s fine,” Levi husked before Eren even said a word. “I just wanted to let you know I get it.”

Eren pushed the papers and a few folders off his lap, laid them thoughtlessly on a throw pillow and crawled across the couch to the loveseat. Hunched forward against his own knees and wrapped his arms right around Levi’s shoulders, smashed his nose into the place just behind his ear.

Levi stiffened, gently. Not because—

_You better not let him think you’re…_

—but because he had not expected it, especially not from Eren.

“Eren,” Levi murmured, hands pressed to Eren’s sides. Eren’s arms tightened instantly, stubbornly, ready to resist. Levi could feel the painful tension in his body. So he relaxed. Hoped it would make Eren relax, too. “Eren,” he said again, the name hanging on his lower lip.

“I’m sorry,” Eren whispered, the words rushing out one over the other. Ticklish breath. Voice tiny. Strained. Ashamed. “I just—I’m letting myself feel it. A little. I guess. I just need a hug. I’m sorry—”

Levi’s hands drifted down to the small of Eren’s back. He closed his eyes, took a long slow breath, let the scent of Eren’s skin and hair seep into him. He understood—completely. Physical comfort. Another heartbeat, another body, another real, live thing to prove he wasn’t alone. The way simple touch could just uncoil all the tension in the shoulders, soothe the ache in the chest, flood the head with a numb sort of peace.

The kid was a mess. And Levi knew what it was like.

“Okay,” he husked. “I can do that.”

* * *

They had sex on the couch.

It just sort of happened. Again.

Just like what happened in the kitchen, against the counter, and— _No strings attached._ Like the surprise attraction had just been waiting for the gates to go down and the starter gun to go off.

Eren wasn’t even sure what sparked it, just that he’d wanted a hug and then before he knew it he was on Levi’s lap, knees pressed to the couch cushions, fingers in Levi’s hair and Levi’s tongue in his mouth, careful, exploring, like his hands up his shirt, smoothing over his ribs, his sides, his stomach.

Levi. His mom’s friend Levi—no. Levi. Blue-gray eyes, flashing over him. Older than him. Beyond him. Too good for him. Familiar stranger. Unfamiliar friend. Levi.

Eren didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to feel. He just wanted to touch and be touched. Eyes closed. Head back. Slow, lazy, willing movements. Stretching body. Curling toes. Opening knees. Hooked arms. Kisses dancing along the nape of his neck, sending chills down his spine. The intoxicating shock of—someone else in his hand. The tickle of Levi’s lashes on his cheek, body heat and steady breathing, steady motion, and the way Levi’s arm tightened on him just before he came into Eren’s palm, stutter of a faint moan against the shell of his ear.

There weren’t even any words. It didn’t even feel romantic. It was just kind of…sad in a way that felt so relieving. Cathartic.

Eren wasn’t going to lie to himself: he was lonely. And maybe Levi was lonely, too. Maybe their lonelinesses were somehow sort of in tune with one another, like the pace of their bodies, like the mix of their breaths, flutter of lashes, brief—quick—shy and guilty darting eye contact—and that was the only thing that was textbook intimate at all. How emotionally fucked up did a guy have to be to throw himself so willingly and eagerly into something like this—a craving that just ripped through him at the drop of a pin—sex, just sex. Anything to not feel alone, to distract him from thinking or feeling or realizing he wasn’t thinking or feeling. Anything to make him feel _good_. No questions asked, no reservations about the innocent lust. Just giving in to it.   

Nothing to lose, and all that jazz.

God, it was nice.

Eren lay half across Levi’s chest in the comedown, slowly catching his breath, one arm dangled off the couch and his fingertips idly brushing at the carpet. Heart calming. Tingling post-orgasm numbness sweeping through him. He liked the way it felt, Levi’s body rolling under him with every deep sigh—gently lulling him like peaceful waves.

He still felt a little lonely. But it was in a safe way. Because Levi shared it with him.

“Okay,” Levi murmured after a long moment or two, friendly little tap on Eren’s back. “I need to go shower.”

Eren wiggled around to prop his chin on his arm, on Levi’s chest. Levi raised his brows at him, expectantly. Ghost of a smile haunting his mouth. Maybe he didn’t know that. Face still flushed. Eyes dully heated. Eren felt like he needed to thank him. But thanking him for sex also seemed really stupid and kind of flustered him a little, embarrassed him. _Don’t need pity sex_. Desperate. Really, seriously that desperate? No. _No strings_. Shared lonely.

“Thanks again for dinner,” Eren said instead, clearing his throat. “I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, of course,” Levi mumbled. “Seriously, your elbow’s crushing me now. Get up.”

“Sorry.” Eren rolled carefully off Levi and laughed a little, adjusting the waistband of his boxer briefs. He could at least see through that much, Levi’s feigned offhandedness. It was kind of cute. But he was absolutely right—a shower and clean shorts all around. 

 

**end ch. vi**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song pairing - **børns** | _the emotion_
> 
> (sorry for the late update, i kind of had a crazy day unexpected)


	7. The Warmth of a Kiss, Never Speaking of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He meant it. It was the absolute, hundred-percent truth. But it still hurt him to say it. // "You’re good?" Levi mumbled. "I’m good," Eren murmured back. // "If they don’t get it, they’re not worth your time." // Levi had decided that the generally accepted meaning of family could stand for a bit of redefining. // From: EREN 'can i please call, i need to talk' // Erwin stretched up to peek around the branches at him. "Seriously?" He sounded half surprised and half pleased. "I can’t figure out if you’re judging me or not," Levi grumbled. "I don’t need you to monitor my sex life, either." // - I tell you what, Carla, you’re sure missing a lot. -

_Fourteen years ago – 2001._

“Levi! Levi, unlock the fucking door!”

Erwin’s voice was muffled by three stories and a loose window, which rattled as Levi shoved it open and hung out over the alley. Erwin waved up at him from the shadowy concrete below, a few street rats camped out not far down by the dumpster watching curiously with their radio blasting rap music.

“You don’t fucking live here, so why should I?” Levi demanded.

“Are you joking? I _practically_ live here!” Erwin spat, messy blond hair and hockey sweatshirt.

“Your name’s not on the lease last time I checked.” Levi shoved away from the windowsill and started ripping apart the cramped little apartment for anything associated with Erwin Smith. With the window open, he could hear seabirds and the vicious rush of cars on the interstate, not even a mile away. And that fucking rap music.

Back and forth to the window he went, throwing out clothes and books and little things Erwin had gifted him, the pillow, the jacket Erwin left and Levi had fallen asleep in once, in the bed of a pickup truck under the bright Pacific Northwest stars while Hanji and Moblit blew ganja clouds and Erwin sang along to the music from the little beat-up boombox—fuck him and his coffee mug—

Erwin swore loudly in dismay, avoiding the mug as it shattered on the gritty ground. He threw a hand against a stained mattress propped up over a window on the first floor and cried desperately, “Levi, is this it? You don’t want to date me anymore?”

Levi stuck himself out the window again, lip curled.

Erwin was vehement in the most valiant of ways, straight out of a romance movie’s climactic scene, blue eyes flashing emotionally even in the gray of early evening. A streetlight flickered on around the corner, washing him in harsh yellow. “Do you? Huh?” he growled. “Because you don’t do shit, if you do! You don’t want to go on dates, you don’t want to—” Erwin searched on the ground, snatched up a book of poetry he’d gotten Levi for his birthday, which had narrowly avoided a gravelly puddle. “You were pissed at me when I got you this, and you were pissed at me when I got you flowers, like—”

“What kind of guy in their right mind gets another guy flowers?”

“Uh, one that cares? What the fuck do you want from me, then?”

“I don’t fucking know!”

Levi spun on his heel, electric and frantic with dark feelings. Thank God his roommate Yahmur wasn’t here; she’d have flipped her shit unlike Farlan, who was just jamming away in his room on his fucking bass guitar. Yahmur the Turkish grad student who always went barefoot with her little toe rings, her long skirts and no-bra belly-button shirts, was all about positive vibes and energies. _Stop yelling, Levi,_ she would have said, looking so deeply wounded by the negativity. _What you put into the universe, the universe gives back—_ Cigarette smoke had long since stained the ceiling yellow, every now and again marijuana, so Yahmur tried to pretty the cramped apartment up with hippie wall-hangings and palm-sized star-shaped paper lanterns on a string like Christmas lights to drape along their windows, over faded gray carpet, and Levi loved the way Erwin always hit his head on them, always ducked through the bead curtains in the doorway—

“Who the fuck actually wants flowers?” Levi cried, voice strained, as he flung Erwin’s deodorant and toothbrush as hard as he could out the window. The toothbrush popped off Erwin’s head.

“Ow!” Erwin scoffed, holding his temple. “I don’t know, I thought it would be a nice gesture because _I love you_ —”

“Stop!” Levi jabbed a finger, throat tight, face twisted. “I told you I didn’t want to hear that! I care about you, but I don’t love you!”

He meant it. It was the absolute, hundred-percent truth.

But it still _hurt_ him to say it.   

The kids on the other side of the dumpster turned their music up way louder.

“What the _fuck_ do you want if you don’t love me?” Erwin roared, and Levi had only ever seen him that angry a few times in the last year or so.

Levi’s voice cracked and rasped as he screamed back, fingernails scraping the paint of the windowsill, “I want you to be my friend! I want to laugh with you, and stay up watching dumb movies. I want to hang out, smoke on the porch and tell fortunes with our Turkish coffee, and talk about horoscopes and political fucking theory and finals and I want you to wink at me through the kitchen bar and say, ‘Trust me, I’m almost a doctor,’ or whatever your stupid joke of the day is and God damn, I want to _fuck_ you and I want you _around_ me, but I just can’t handle the romantic shit, okay? I can’t! I don’t know how to process it! I don’t need it, I don’t know how to _do_ it! Maybe something’s wrong with me, I don’t know, I—it just doesn’t _work_ with me!”

There was a moment as Erwin gawked up at him in a broken sort of way, like he felt betrayed—like he felt _guilty_. Damn it, why did he have to look _guilty_? He waved his hands hopelessly and in a tender voice beseeched, “Levi, I _want_ to ‘work’ with you!”

Levi panted, voice raw from screaming. So hard his eyes burned, his lashes were damp. Shit. He wiped at them, roughly. Felt good from yelling. Felt so good from finally putting it into words. _Don’t know how to be romantic. Don’t need to be romantic_.

Erwin was trying to pick up his stuff. Levi watched, slumped on the windowsill. He waited until his breath calmed, his eyes dried. He croaked, “Smith! You want help picking your shit up…?”

###

_Present._

Levi and Erwin always did Thanksgiving with Hanji and Mike, at Mike’s brother’s place up north. Levi’s mom had been gone for years, and he’d never really known his dad. His uncle Kenny was kind of a loner, but Levi didn’t blame that for his lack of motivation to drive down to Oregon to celebrate the holiday with family he really wasn’t close to. Christmas, okay, he’d call his grandparents. They had, after all, been his legal guardians until he’d moved to Seattle with his uncle.

Erwin still had his mother, but she’d sworn off holidays since his dad died and Erwin had long since stopped pushing her to resist a depressed spiral into agoraphobia. She just didn’t want help; she shut him out.  

But Mike still had his family—his younger brother Moblit (who was always the butt of jokes because he’d been Hanji’s puppy until he’d met Ilse and proposed right out of college) and his older brother Hannes—and Mike’s round little mom loved to cook so she loved having guests and Mike’s grumpy mountain man father didn’t care who was there in his son’s nice lake house unless someone interrupted the football game.

Levi had decided that the generally accepted meaning of _family_ could stand for a bit of redefining.

Too many snacks—too much food—good wine and easy conversation with the coffee and pie—and somewhere around the third round of Cards Against Humanity, after Mike’s dad had gone off for an after-dinner nap and his mom was re-watching the parade, Levi’s phone vibrated for a notification.

“I thought you promised you’d _actually_ take off work for the holidays,” Hanji muttered under the rest of conversation, placing a card in the circle face-down with a little snap of its corner against the table.

“I did,” Levi grumbled back, pulling out his phone to check anyway. But setting an Out of the Office automatic e-mail reply after the agency announced it would be unavailable until Monday didn’t mean shit. Writers, on the representation end or the represented end, were never off the clock. It just didn’t happen.

From: EREN

_can i please call, i need to talk_

Levi’s brow knotted. 

Hannes’s wraparound deck looked over the water in the back, thick, dark trees spearing into the evening sky as the bay caught the glow of the moon. Levi leaned against the deck railing, drumming wine-warm fingers on the stained wood. It was nice out, crisp and cool, the bite of autumn in the air without all the rain. The ringback droned.

 _Click_. “Hey.”

Levi’s hand fell still. “What’s your deal?”

On the other line, Eren was quiet for a moment. If Levi listened hard enough, maybe he heard the fuzzy crash and chatter of Thanksgiving dinner beyond the quiet.

“Sorry,” Eren started, but just sort of trailed off. The few breaths in between were heavy with—something.

Levi knew.

“You okay?” he prompted, and it was a stupid question but it had to be asked.

“No,” Eren snapped back, and then on the other end of the call, he just broke. Stifled, scratchy crying, like he had his hand clamped over his mouth, desperate to strangle his sobs.  

Something in Levi’s chest burned. His jaw tightened. He sighed through his teeth, a tense shiver twisting through him. But he wasn’t mad at Eren—he could picture it, Eren hunched on someone’s back porch just like him, clutching the phone close, bawling into his arm, struggling to keep it secret but unable to hold it back. He was mad that Eren was upset. He was mad because he’d already learned how to get through holidays when they just weren’t the same, suddenly full of ghosts, and he didn’t know what the fuck to do for someone before they learned that, too, he was mad at his unprepared, slightly uncomfortable, ineptitude because Eren—for some reason, God knew why—Eren trusted him with this moment. This vulnerability. This utter helplessness and private pain. Not his friends. Not his family. _Levi_.

So he just listened.

He stood on the deck, head cradled in one hand, fingers aching from the cold as he listened to Eren cry and growl about how it was just so fucked up, he didn’t want to talk about it, he really wasn’t even thinking about it, he just felt guilty and so irritated by everyone and angry, _angry_ for some reason…

“It’s okay,” Levi husked whenever he got the chance. “Hey, it’s okay. I know.”

Finally—thank fucking God, finally—the kid calmed down enough to just breathe slow, quivering sighs, punctuated here and there by rough sniffles and throat-clearing. Finally, after a long, brittle silence, he said, “Sorry for that. I was going to call Armin, or Mikasa, but—I didn’t want to bring them down.”

Levi smirked wryly, like Eren could even see it. “But you’d bring me down, huh?”

Maybe Eren could hear it, though, like Levi heard the weak smile in his voice as he mumbled again, “Yeah, sorry.” 

Another voice, somewhere behind Eren in the scratchy background.

“Yeah,” Eren called to the voice, “I’m coming, Historia. Hold on.”

Levi cleared his throat. “You’re good?” he mumbled.

“I’m good,” Eren murmured back.

Levi cradled his phone in both hands with a long sigh after hanging up, elbows propped on the railing. He leaned forward, letting the nighttime air cool his face and neck. Well, _that_ had been fucking difficult and he’d been absolutely unprepared for it. But—Eren was still fragile. He was teetering on the edge all the time. Maybe Levi should have thought about that before inviting him to stay with him, but it was a little late for that now. Either he learned to control his self-doubt with comforting people or he needed to accept the fact that Eren was going to think he was a dick for not being sympathetic or compassionate or—

“You guys seem pretty close,” Erwin said, and Levi jumped—lost his phone—juggled it—watched it fall down past the first floor into the pretty bushes and smoketrees below.

“God damn it!” he hissed in defeat, slumping into his hands with a vicious pout.  

Erwin went downstairs to help him look for his phone, which was only mildly irritating in the dark and the tugging Bellingham wind.

“So you’re cut off now,” Erwin said around a chuckle, pushing branches apart like drapes and feeling around the twisted trunk of a large laceleaf maple.

“Oh my God, fuck off, I’m not drunk,” Levi mumbled back good-humoredly, hunched down to the ground to poke around under some branches. “You startled me, asshole.”

“Whatever, I know how much wine you’ve had.”

“Like I’m a fucking lightweight or something? Come on.”

“I’m just saying.”

“That Pasek cranberry is dangerous, sure.”

“Wait, I think I found—no. Sorry.”

“Are you sure? This is right where I was standing.”

“Was it?”

“I think—”

Levi heaved an exasperated sigh, a little grumpy groan, standing in the middle of bushes with his hands buried in his hair. “Can you just call it or something?”

Erwin straightened up on the other side of the bushes, brushing dirt off his nice chinos. “My phone’s inside,” he lamented.

“Jesus,” Levi sighed again, more curtly, and went back to his hands and knees waiting for moonlight or house lights to reflect off his phone.

“I’ll go get it,” Erwin said. But he didn’t move. No rustle of bushes, no soft crunch of grass.

Levi looked up through the leaves and branches, felt very much young and stupid peeking up at Erwin where Erwin’s silhouette stretched tall and strong against the soft cobalt sky.

“What?” Levi grunted.

Erwin shrugged, rolled his shoulders a little, made a tiny thoughtful sound with his mouth as he slid his hands forward into his pockets. Such a manly gesture, an adult gesture. He’d really grown into himself over the years.

“You kind of avoided it,” he husked in that low, almost grosgrain tone of voice that Levi knew so well.

Levi rocked back on his heels and scowled at Erwin above the bushes. “What do you mean?”

“You and Eren—you guys seem pretty close all of a sudden.”

Levi bristled, caught off guard. Rooted there, hands on his knees, looking up at Erwin through his lashes as the gentle wind pushed hair in and out of his eyes. Suspicious of Erwin’s suspicion. Well-meant suspicion, responsible suspicion, best friend suspicion. But suspicion. _Don’t let him think…_

“Well, we’re getting to know each other,” he murmured, “seeing as he’s been staying with me for a little bit now.”

Clearly conscious of Levi’s counter suspicion, Erwin went back to looking for the phone with a gentle shrug. After a moment, in a casual but slightly cautious way, like he didn’t want to overstep any bounds, he asked, “You guys, uh—you know, sleep together again?”

“Maybe,” Levi snapped, crawling out of sight around a bush.

Erwin stretched up to peek around the branches at him. “Seriously?” He sounded half surprised and half pleased.

“I can’t figure out if you’re judging me or not,” Levi grumbled, casting a pout of a glance from his hands and knees. “I don’t need you to monitor my sex life, either.”

“I’m not monitoring your sex life, just the way you were talking to him on the phone I thought maybe—”

“I know, I know. You’re trying to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Thanks. I appreciate it.”

 _It_. The very certain kind of human bond in a physical relationship mistaken for the end-all codependency the heteronormative world called _romantic love_ and ultimately spiraling down into uncomfortable misunderstandings and resentment.

Erwin was quiet for a moment, stretched up on his knees like a meerkat as Levi rustled around through leaves and branches—ah!

“Got it!” Levi cried triumphantly, snatching up his phone and wiping it clean on his thigh.

“Well,” Erwin said like he wasn’t paying attention at all, staring thoughtfully out at the water, “do you guys talk a lot like that?”

Levi checked to make sure he hadn’t missed any other messages or calls while his phone was MIA. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘like that.’”

“Are you dating?”

“No, Erwin,” Levi retorted, standing up and brushing off his knees and shins. “We’re not dating. Yup, we’ve had sex a few times. But we already agreed it was just casual and I told him to—”

“Okay, but does _he_ think you’re dating?”

Levi whirled around. “Enough with the third-degree, Smith!”

Maybe it was a little too vicious. Erwin’s brow knotted and his frown was a little withdrawn as he peered at Levi in a rather closed-up way. Levi sighed, running a hand through his hair, down his neck.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“You haven’t told him yet, have you?” Erwin asked flatly. Now he sounded disappointed, a little on edge. “That’s so not fucking fair to him.”

Levi scoffed, stomping out of the bushes and making sure to kick a few tinier branches as he went. What, like it hadn’t been fair to Erwin? Was this some sort of noble reprisal, some mission to protect everyone from Levi’s inability to give a fuck about romantic closeness? Some sort of harbored betrayal waiting for revenge— _So not fair to him…_ Well, what about Levi? What about his frustrations and the betrayal he felt when people he cared about simply could not wrap their heads around it, adjust to it, his aromanticism, his aversion to things like anniversary tracking or candlelit dinners, flowers and marriage and cutesy PDA—

“It’s not fucking fair to _you_ ,” Erwin hissed next, and Levi stopped in his tracks and looked up sharply. Erwin knew him too well, damn it. He always knew how to find the cracks in his defensiveness, the perfect timing in which to break through his stubbornness. Always knew exactly what to say and how to say it because he was just such a good man.

Relief shivered down through Levi—down his neck, to his fingertips, pinched in his stomach. Fast, but there. It happened sometimes, those little moments that stabbed him quick and deep with surprise. Disbelief, almost. That Erwin was still here after all these years. Forgiving. Loyal. Understanding. Not an ounce of resentment. Protective like a fucking brother now, that sort of irreplaceable best friend—that irreplaceable, unromantic devotion Levi had struggled to put into words every time Erwin said _I love you_ back then. Always watching. Always worrying. Never going to be together like before. Never going to be _in love_. Erwin just fucking _got_ him.

“It’s not fair to you,” Erwin said again, more gently but not any less firm. And the look in his eyes was like he knew exactly what Levi was thinking.

“How so?” Levi murmured. Cleared his throat.

“You keep it to yourself like it’s some failure or, I don’t know, a dirty secret.” Erwin shrugged and did that thing again, running his hands up his side to slip into his pockets so handsomely and assuredly. “It’s not. It’s just part of what makes you… _you_. And if someone doesn’t get it, they’re not worth your time.”

“I _know_ that,” Levi grumbled, feeling suddenly very young and embarrassed.

“Then why haven’t you told him?” Erwin asked.

Levi issued a miserable little shrug. Tried to avoid Erwin’s prying eyes by looking out at the water, around Hannes’s backyard. Gave up. He met Erwin’s stare and just took a long breath, sighed through his nose. He didn’t even have to say it. Erwin knew already, and he knew Levi knew he knew and was not the type of person to say it out loud.

He was afraid.

Because he cared for Eren—he did, actually, in a way that had startled him, invaded and occupied. But he _cared_. Erwin was right.

He had to lay it all out before Eren started expecting something Levi really couldn’t give. It was for the better, anyway. Better that everything come to an end before Levi himself got too invested.

###

The only light on in the apartment was the light over the stove, casting a weak yellow glow that didn’t quite make it very far past the island counter. Levi dropped his jacket on the back of a bar stool and wandered over to turn it off with a little _click_ of the switch. Digital clock on the stove, bright blue like artificial moonlight. 1:42 a.m.

_Not fair to him._

He’d taken his time leaving Mike’s brother’s place—taken his time drifting down I-5 from Bellingham.

 _Not fair to you_.

Mainly because he wasn’t entirely sure he’d waited long enough not to be driving buzzed, but who gave a fuck. The scenery before Burlington was gorgeous even in the night.

 _What makes you you and they’re not worth your time_.

There was a note taped to the counter, just to the left of the stove.

 _Click._ Levi snapped the stove light back on.

_Levi –_

_thank you for ~~being there for me~~ putting up with me_

Levi snorted, half scoff and half chuckle. _Being there for me_ was frantically, viciously crossed out, like he wouldn’t be able to read it through the jagged lines. What a dork. What a Carla note; self-conscious and cutely indecisive, but somehow still so candid. Except she’d been much more particular about her scratching-out. Just one, straight, neat line, not a bunch of fierce slashes.

Idly, Levi tapped his finger on the note and glanced over his shoulder—the spare bedroom door was closed, light off.

 _Not fair to you_.

He sighed and peeled the note off the counter, folded it in half carefully and evenly. Pulled out the drawer in which the narrow trash can hid and let the paper slip out of his fingers, tape and all.

“I tell you what, Carla, you’re sure missing a lot,” he muttered to the quiet, turned off the light again and raked his hands through his hair over and over as he wandered on to his bedroom to fall into bed.

 

**end ch. vii**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stop with the early 2000s being so long ago crying i’m not old enough for this yet, also srsly tho this song is amazing and fucks me up and so perfect for this chapter – song pairing, **from indian lakes** | _bad holiday_
> 
> kind of short-ish? i feel like? don't worry. i am making up for that fast in the next few chapters. ;) 
> 
> also i am so sorry i am always writing about christmas. idk why. it is always christmas in my soul. maybe bc i'm a fall/winter witch. it is june, for fuck's sake. j u n e stop


	8. Sleepsong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Congratulations, again, ‘E. Rogue,’” Levi said. “Congratulations, sweetheart!” Carla cooed, joining the toast. “Thanks,” Eren murmured, still smiling in that dazed, hopeful sort of way. // “I’m aromantic,” Levi said, and raised his brows as if to say, Your move. // Suddenly the flashes of Levi in his memory had a new feel to them— // Nothing to lose. // Levi dragged the throw blanket down around his shoulders and gingerly flipped the binder open on his lap. His pencil twisted and twirled lazily between his fingers as he turned the title page up. He started to read. // (in which eren doesn't quite get it yet, some background erejean, fair warning)

_Six years ago_.

“Carla, it’s good,” Levi murmured around his glass of wine, raising his brows as he slid back a slow sip.

Carla smiled at him across the table. A pinched smile, a worried brow to match a worried mouth as she pulled her fingers through her hair too gently to be compulsively. The low lights of SkyCity—the slowly spinning restaurant perched atop the Space Needle—made her look soft and young, white almost-sheer blouse and nice black slacks, one leg hooked over the other as she sat back in her chair and kept smiling at nothing in general like she didn’t believe him.

“We’re going abroad for a week in September,” she said. “London for a conference, Paris and Bruges for fun. I’m excited. I think he is, too.”

“Carla,” Levi said firmly, mirroring her posture from the opposite side of the table—a little more authoritatively than her nervous foot-wagging. “I told you, it’s _good_. His book is _good_. I mean, it’s not hard to be good at romance novels, even with how easy it is to be fucking terrible, but—the agency didn’t snatch him up just because he’s your son.”

The smile finally faded. Carla deflated with a long sigh, hands flopping to her lap. “He’s my son and you recommended him,” she argued. “I just—don’t want anyone to force him into my shadow. It’s not fair to him. I didn’t decide this for him, _he_ did. _He_ wants to write.”

“Carla,” Levi said for a third time, more impatiently. “Eren’s phenomenal for an eighteen-year-old. Prolific. All he needs is his foot in the door, and he’ll go wherever he wants from here.”

“You promise it’s good?” Carla finally met Levi’s eyes, brow creased deeper. “You’re not just saying that.”

“It’s fucking _good!_ ” Levi cried, half in a laugh and half in frustration. A passing waiter glanced their direction; oops, too loud. Levi cleared his throat, raked his hair out of his eyes only for it to drift back into place in loose, lazy wisps. “You know I call it like I see it. If it was shit, I’d tell you.”

“He still doesn’t know you had first eyes,” Carla whispered, subtle tip of the chin. Levi glanced over his shoulder.

Eren was on his way back from the bathroom, skirting around tables, avoiding collision somehow without even looking as he watched the city skyline and lights drift by beyond the stretch of window. There was a lightness to his step. A kind of wonderment softening his face. Something so innocent, so serene—so different from his usual wild spirit. Was that what it was like for kids like him? Trust fund, doctor father, renowned author mother, work hard for nothing kids? When they finally found their own purpose in life?

Eren slid back into his seat with a tiny smile, raising his brows as both Carla and Levi watched him wordlessly.

“Hi?” he said.

Levi lifted his glass of wine. “Congratulations, again, ‘E. Rogue,’” he said, and Carla laughed and met his glass with her own and Eren’s face dimpled in a flustered, blushing smile as he added his glass of water to the mix.

“Congratulations, sweetheart!” Carla cooed, squishing her son close to her side and pecking a kiss wherever she found an opening.

“Thanks,” Eren murmured, still smiling in that dazed, hopeful sort of way. His mom slipped him her glass of wine out of sight from anyone else and Eren looked up at her as he stole a long gulp, suppressing a grateful smirk, licking his lips.

It was true; what Levi said was true. It wasn’t hard to be good at romance novels, even though it was easy to be bad. But Eren was very talented regardless. Reading his little genre harlequins betrayed nothing of his recent escape from high school. Levi was almost afraid editors would try to dumb them down.

 _Do something practical_ , Carla’s ex-husband had said once, and it had so deeply stung Levi both secondhand and personally that it still echoed around his head now and then. _Practical_.

Carla kept her arm around Eren, excitedly rubbing at his arm, the kind of vigorous embrace that gently jostled and rocked. And Eren’s eyes flickered over to Levi, carefully, like he hoped Levi wasn’t looking. Levi was. Glanced away almost immediately, because he was used to this clash of eyes away from which they both leapt like the cautious parries of outstretched sabers.

But Eren didn’t look away. Just kept staring, in that space cadet way of his that didn’t really see, just went far away into thought. And Levi watched from the corner of his eye.

* * *

_Present._

“Levi, I need something romantic.” 

Levi leaned out of his bedroom with a look on his face like Eren had just spoken in riddles—doubtful, mildly annoyed, slightly confused.

“I’m sorry?” he grunted.

Eren shrugged, sprawled on the couch and tapping a finger on the palm rest of his laptop. It smelled like dinner in the apartment—low buzz of television, chatter of commercials. Almost a little too warm and cozy to be wearing socks, but Eren was too lazy to reach over and peel them off. It was sock weather, anyway. Sweater weather. The last depths of autumn.

“I need help,” Eren confessed with a tiny pout. “With this scene. I can’t think of something romantic for them to say to each other.”

Levi’s eyes volleyed between Eren’s computer and Eren himself. _Oh, working_. He heaved a sigh, wandering out of his room with his little bathroom trash can. He was in the middle of cleaning, which was probably why he seemed irritated. Eren couldn’t help it; he kind of found it cute. Maybe because it was like a victory—infiltrating the untouchable aloofness that had always gotten him bumbling and blushing when he was younger. He loved poking at Jean, too. Getting him all riled up and huffy. It was just how he flirted, he guessed.

But all that aside, he really did need help with this scene because his agent was low-key begging him for faster progress, considering the deadlines in the last contract they’d signed.

“I’ve always found that when I hit a wall, if I walk away from it for a little bit, it loosens up my mind,” Levi grumbled from behind the island counter, rustle of trash bag, cinch of red drawstring.

“I’ve tried,” Eren groaned, flopping his head back against the couch cushions.

“Oh my God, you’re whiny,” Levi muttered to himself. “Do you have trash in your bathroom?”

“No, not really. Anyway, it’s the mafia one I told you about. The assassin for hire who falls for the target of her contract hit.”

“Oh, the woman’s the hitman? That’s a good twist.”

“Yeah, I wanted to break the mold.” Eren peeked around the couch. Levi stood in the middle of his kitchen, hands planted on his hips, frowning at nothing in general it seemed—blue-gray eyes narrowed and sharp with thought. A plain T-shirt, cotton lounge pants with the Mariners compass screen printed at the hip.

Then, unmoving, unchanging, like some secret muse whispered the lines right into his ear, he recited, “‘Are you scared of me?’ she asks. ‘No,’ he says. And he’s not, I’m assuming. But then somewhere later on, he says, ‘I lied, I am scared of you. Scared of the way you make me feel.’ Or… Something like that.” Levi’s eyes flickered over to Eren, brows raised. “Good?”

Eren stared. That was so cheesy.

_Are you scared of me?_

A little too cliché.

_Get to know me, then._

It was…

_Scared of the way you make me feel._

Really perfect, actually.

Eren smiled a little to himself—nodded vehemently and hurried to take note. “That works,” he said. “Yeah, that’s—you’re pretty good at the romantic thing behind that don’t-give-a-fuck-exterior, huh?” 

Levi was quiet.

Eren snuck another peek over the couch, worried he’d offended him.

“No,” Levi replied on a soft sigh. “I’m not.”

Oh. Shit. That sounded like a little bit of baggage. Eren watched him hoist up the bag of trash, leaving the front door cracked after himself as he headed to the discreet resident garbage shoot at the end of the hall.

A strange sort of nervousness crept through Eren as he waited. Too much too soon? Too close for comfort? Was he actually really annoying him? Maybe Levi wanted his house to himself again. Eren hadn’t even been trying to flirt with that, just sort of joking around—

Levi kicked his door shut again and quickly washed his hands. Drifted around to the loveseat and flopped down there half on his side, feet propped up and crossed at the ankle on the ottoman. There was a twist to his face that was almost like a pout and a lot more like dread.

“But _you’re_ good at the romance stuff, right?” he asked with a little flick of the brow, and it took Eren a moment to realize he was picking up the conversation again. “I mean, what the fuck is it, anyway? Romance.”

Eren blinked a few times, puzzled. 

Levi shrugged, picking at a loose thread in the couch cushion. “Romancing, wooing, like—what does it mean? The whole production of it is this wildly popular, crazy sense of ownership and martyrdom and codependence—it’s like emotional _bribery_. What’s romance even supposed to be, besides a smokescreen over the fact that everyone just wants proof they matter and are so terrified of being alone?”  

Eren gawked, mouth half open.

Levi stared back, looking a bit cautious like he didn’t know if he should have said as much in the first place. Or like he dared Eren to prove him wrong. Or—

“And now we’re all closer to death,” Levi finished with a short nod and the ghost of a wry smile.

Eren burst into curt laughter. Sort of a scoff. Quick, startled. Kneejerk response to distance himself from the mildly nihilistic rant before it sank its teeth into him. Left him any more stunned. Any more bruised or unwarrantedly criticized.

“It is so not a smokescreen,” he argued. “If anything, it’s a formula—a pattern—”

Eren heaved a sigh and shut his computer, moved it to the ottoman.

Well…

“I’m not going to lie, Mr. Glass Half Empty,” he grumbled, pulling his legs up and snuggling down into the arm of the couch, toes curling between the cushions. “You’re right, romance _is_ fucking weird. Like, you go out into the world and at some point, you decide: _that_ person— _that_ human is mine, and no one else’s. But what I mean about the formula is that it’s… Romance is the formula of falling in love, or something—the step-by-step. Kind of an arc like the Hero’s Journey thing. I guess, the Lover’s Journey?”

Levi uttered a little sound that was like the husk of a chuckle, rolling his eyes kindly. The industry was jaded with the Hero’s Journey, Eren knew that. But it was an incontrovertible truth.

“Boy meets girl,” Eren explained, counting it out on his fingers as visual. “Or—you know, whatever, Person A meets Person B. We acknowledge our desire for each other, we feel it out and confirm it with little romantic gestures—dates, flattery, PDA, gifts, house key, meet the parents, you know. That Honeymoon Stage fades after a while, though, and there’s the Pinch Point, personalities and private selves clash—sometimes there’s the evil ex—but it’s because we realize we’ve fallen for each other and we’re resist the commitment. It’s natural. Everything is put to the test, there’s the Great Turnaround and Person A or Person B comes running back for the emotional reunion where we finally realize whether we want to say, ‘I love you, don’t ever leave again,’ or, ‘It’s over, fuck off.’ You see it in every movie, every book, every relationship. And that’s it. That’s the pattern.”

Levi studied him with hooded eyes, still smiling dryly. Arms crossed, propped on one elbow. T-shirt flirting with the smooth ridge of his collarbone, the tight curves of his arms. “Are you sure you’re not confusing romance novel plot with real life?”

Eren scoffed again, impersonal disdain. “For sure. That’s how romance works. And that’s why romance novels—movies, anything—work. They reflect a successful romance, and people relate to that.”

“So you’ve got it all figured out, huh?” Levi murmured, like Eren had been a little cocky. “You take those shitty, cliché, bare-bone rules and crank out all these smut books.”

“They’re not shitty, they’re _true_ ,” Eren snapped. He didn’t mean to be so defensive. He just didn’t understand how Levi could be so cynical. “It’s real. It’s proven. There are a million articles and books about it, how to do it right, how to make sure romance is right on track for love and you’re not fucking it up. Okay, sure, the whole Lover’s Journey thing is much more about plot design, but if it wasn’t true, why would it work? I’m right, right? You have to at least admit that.”

Levi issued a little sigh through his nose, smile fading. “No, I don’t doubt you’re right. You know what you’re talking about. But I don’t get it. I don’t—do that.”

“You don’t realize you do it,” Eren clarified. “But everyone does it, in their own way—”

“No,” Levi said tersely, “I’m saying—I don’t fall in love.”

Eren was ready to keep elaborating, but the words kind of fell back down his throat and left his mouth hanging open, brow knotted. His eyes darted over to fix Levi’s, bewildered. Doubtful.

 _Don’t fall in love with me_.

He was just being stubborn, now. Clearly something in his past had left a mark on him, a wound, a scar. Eren wanted to say, _See? Your personality and private self. Baggage. Right there_. But he wasn’t sure if he could. Wasn’t sure if he should. Wasn’t sure…

“I’m aromantic,” Levi said, and raised his brows as if to say, _Your move_.

Eren frowned deeply.

He leaned into his palm, examining Levi through his lashes. “What…?” he mumbled when Levi’s words finally registered with some sort of significance.

“I’m not romantically, uh, inclined.” Something in Levi’s eyes changed; he was retreating from the moment. Going back into his enigmatic broodiness. In a perfect world, that was the type of mystery that made a guy absolutely alluring. The Bad Boy thing, the kind of guy that girls wanted to salvage like a piece of vintage furniture in a thrift store.

But it also wasn’t. It was like Levi was trying very, very hard to be open without being vulnerable. He wasn’t fucking around. This was genuinely hard for him to talk about.

“But we had sex,” Eren blurted.

Levi rolled his eyes, scornfully. “Did I say I don’t have a sex drive? No. Sex is not romance. Sex is—to me, it’s the best way to show someone how I feel, how I actually feel. Because I don’t—I _can’t_ do romance. I just can’t. It doesn’t work with me.”

_Don’t fall in love with…_

“It’s just…not there,” Levi murmured apologetically. Or maybe nervously. “I don’t know how else to explain it.”

For a painfully quiet few seconds, Eren couldn’t even try to process it. But then there was a rush of—God, he’d never, _ever_ expected to find himself in a moment like this with Levi. Never expected to be close enough to him at all, never thought Levi would ever be anything but a ghost in memory, that guy in passing, his mom’s friend, his first real serious crush.

But now here he was. A real person. So much more than Eren had ever granted him, apparently. Beyond those blue-gray eyes and serious mouth. Suddenly the flashes of Levi in his memory had a new feel to them— 

_Don’t fall in love with me._

Eren felt a little winded. Not hurt, just—deeply thrilled and a little sheepish, a little nervous, that Levi Ackerman, his mom’s friend, this man for whom he’d harbored the world’s softest soft spot over the years, was revealing something so fragile about himself. Whatever it meant. He was revealing it.

Levi trusted him.

Eren swallowed. His throat was dry. Was he blushing? He didn’t know. He was just so sent for a loop that Levi was _confiding_ in him. What the fuck was a guy supposed to think about that, hearing that from someone he’d been sleeping with a little bit regularly?

“Please don’t write me off as a delusional jerk,” Levi whispered, still so boldly looking Eren right in the eye. But his fingers were twisting together absently where they laced at his middle, one draped over his side, the other pressed into the couch. Foot wagging, anxiously. “I’m not lying,” he said, voice flat but very intent. “Or some kind of player, trying to take advantage of you. Using you. I’m not.” 

Aromantic. It wasn’t _entirely_ foreign to Eren. But he’d only ever heard about it in passing. Something or another from Armin, keeping up to date per usual with social developments he’d be writing dissertations or academic articles on. From his agent, who’d hinted not so subtly that diversity was the next big wave in the industry, and he should probably consider it to trail blaze in the harlequin market. How the fuck Eren was supposed to do that in romance novels, he wasn’t sure, but it did feel like a smart business move—he’d only glanced over the list of diverse identities his agent had sent, but he’d been meaning to really look at it—

Eren drummed a finger on his cheek, mouth puckering thoughtfully behind his knuckles. “Can you explain to me what it means, again?” he asked, kind of embarrassed by how tiny and unsure he sounded.

Levi shifted a little, pulling one leg up to prop his heel on the couch. “I think I’m more grey-romantic, honestly. Romance makes me uncomfortable. I don’t understand it, I don’t want it, and I’m not about to force myself into it. I care for people. I can be affectionate.”

“When you want to,” Eren tried to joke.

Levi smiled faintly, accepting the jab. “But I’m not interested in _romance_.”

“So…” Eren chewed the inside of his lip, really trying. “You’re not into candlelit dinners or long walks on the beach, basically.”

“If that’s the best way for you to understand it, sure,” Levi sighed.  

A small quiet settled between them. Television. Someone honking fiercely stories below on the street. A seabird calling as it swooped past Levi’s patio. It was so weird, how Eren really didn’t feel that shaken by the coming out. More cautiously curious, a tiny bit mystified. They were only having sex, not dating, after all. If Jean had said that— _I don’t fall in love_ —it would have been a whole different story.

“I don’t really want to write Harlequins anymore,” Eren said, cringing inwardly at how glumly the words came crumbling out. Not sure why he’d said it. He wasn’t trying to change the topic. He just… Owed Levi a secret torture of his own, he guessed.

Levi cut him a look—almost a protective look. Eren avoided it.

“Yeah,” he went on though Levi didn’t ask, shrugging limply. “I’m tired of them. I’ve been slacking on my contract books because I really just want to work on my other projects. I’m ready to write ‘real’ books. You know? _So_ fucking ready.”

It felt like something in him gave way and a weak wave of release crept through him just to get the words out. Make them real instead of just marquees in his head. Levi stared at him. He could feel it, hovering hot on his skin. Finally Eren slid his eyes over and raised his brows—almost reared back at the unexpected look in Levi’s piercing eyes.

Pride. Relief. Determination.

“You have side projects?” he asked urgently. Ah—he was in business mode. Levi, the talented editor. Levi, the agent-for-a-few-months. Levi, the brilliant acquisitioner.

“Yeah…” Eren peeped, shy smile, defenselessly hooked by that intensity and suddenly feeling very intimidated and inadequate.

“Give them to me,” Levi said. “Can I give them a read? Your real stuff. I can make notes for you. I can help you send them out—”

“Oh, fuck no,” Eren sputtered, laughing cruelly at his own lack of self-confidence. “I can’t—I couldn’t. I don’t think I’m ready for _that_ yet.”

Business mode flitted away and Levi just frowned at Eren, eyes sharp. He knew what Eren meant. Eren knew he knew, but he still felt a little judged. What he didn’t know was why Levi looked at him like he knew more than that.

He wasn’t ready because if he made the leap, it would abandon a huge part of his life in which his mother was everywhere and he did not want to let that go.

It was a stupid fear, but he was afraid of it. He couldn’t help it.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Levi said, clearing his throat. “But I think your mother…”

Stop, no. Don’t bring it up. Go back. “This doesn’t change anything,” Eren affirmed, back to the no romance talk—though it felt more like a question.  

Levi was quiet for a moment.

“No, it doesn’t,” he said softly then, and Eren blushed, looked away, because he knew Levi understood it was a request more than an inquiry. “I mean, if you don’t want it to. We can still…” Levi smirked dryly, ran a hand down the side of his face like even he was flustered to say it out loud. “You know, do what we’ve been doing. You just have to…” Again he trailed off, and waited for Eren to meet his eyes. Which made Eren blush more, if only for the raw sensuality in the moment—the acknowledgement of the physical attraction, the physical action. The strange little tango of unavoidable, unrepentant desire they had going on. The shamelessness of it. Not going to stop wanting it.

“You just have to understand that it’s not going to become something romantic,” Levi husked—and how he could make such a firm, seemingly discouraging stipulation so kind and alluring was beyond Eren. He didn’t even want to try to think about it. Yet. It seemed simple enough. Reasonable enough. They were still getting to know each other. Not too hard not to fall in love with someone he still barely knew.   

“No strings attached,” Eren consented. “A commitment to casual sex.”

Levi’s mouth twisted like he didn’t want to betray how Eren’s titling of the whole thing amused him. Put him at ease. “I’d like that, if you’d like that.” He paused. He nodded and shrugged at the same time. He swung his feet down from the couch, but stopped again before he got up, hands planted on his knees and head sort of hung. With feigned reluctance, he murmured, “I do like having you here, you know. Even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

Eren shot his eyes over, brow knotting. But he wasn’t doubtful. He just hadn’t expected that. His chest tightened. God, he was so needy—so hook, line, and sinker for this whole safety in a familiar stranger closeness. Though Levi was sort of becoming less and less of a stranger. 

 _Scared of the way you make me feel_.

Eren smiled a little, pulled his computer back over to him. “Well,” he mumbled, “I like being here, too. So there. Let me know when I need to start helping with rent.”

Levi was quiet. Stared at the floor. Smiled faintly to himself and shook his head as he got up and wandered off into his bedroom.

* * *

_Nine months ago._

They moved Jean Kirschtein from one grad office to the other in March, and Eren hated him at first. Mainly because he thought he was fucking attractive and maybe Eren had some things inside he needed to work out since every time he crushed on someone, it got him all flustered and feisty like it was somehow their fault. 

But also maybe Jean was a little bit like him, so they just naturally butted heads because there was only room for one witty asshole in the office, anyway, and every day was a wrestle for the crown.

“How are you?” Jean always asked when he blew in with his coffee and his lopsided bag, swinging around to his desk which of course happened to be right next to Eren’s.

“Good, you?” Thomas chirped.

“Annoyed with Canvas,” Sasha sighed.

“Fucking fight me,” Eren snapped, and angled his computer away a little so maybe he didn’t have to catch sight of Jean too many times before he left for class.

 _Person A meets Person B._  

* * *

_Six and a half months ago._

Jean was working hard towards a Ph.D. in English Literature, focus on medieval texts and sideline fix on the history of linguistics, with his artsy two-toned hair, not quite buzzed enough under the tousled lilac blond to be a real fade cut, which was pretty much all a guy needed to be cool anymore. And his denim jacket and his fucking dimpled smirk, his stupid hipster glasses and sweater-thick beanies and the way he sometimes didn’t shave in the morning and the pads of his fingertips scraped softly against his chin as he leaned close to his computer, working on this or that article for the English literature serials no one even knew about, let alone read, except for graduates and professors. Kind of like the History journals Armin collected. The way he threw in words from the handful of languages he’d studied since freshman as an undergrad, not to show off but just to keep from getting rusty. Almost too small T-shirt, the way he whisper-sang thoughtlessly under his breath when Adele came on his Pandora, the way his muscles moved under his skin and he didn’t quite chew on his fingernail, just kept the finger propped in his lower lip as he scrolled along his proofreading.

Without anyone else to notice or care, working with Jean in the grad office actually made Summer quarter bearable. Butting heads gave way to friendly banter and witty comebacks, and talk about bands and movies and recent drama on the Ave, childhood experiences, global warming, long conversations about the art of the English language and what happened if none of this mattered in life after graduating, anyway.

Eren tried really hard not to betray how excited he was by it. By how relaxed he felt around Jean. By how much he liked when Jean frustrated him the same as he made him laugh.

And somehow even with fifty-four thousand students at the University of Washington, it was still a small world, and Eren had yet to put any deep thought or self-evaluation into what it meant to fall into someone’s arms under the influence. Then again, he didn’t know he’d end up a repeat offender.

It turned out Armin had a friend whose roommate was none other than Jean, and where else to run into him off campus but at Armin’s Welcome Back From Eastern Europe Alive party at Mikasa’s, 

There was pizza and beer and a dime bag of weed, and an HDMI cord to hook Armin’s laptop up to the television so he could show everyone all the pictures of old buildings and cobbled streets and classmates cheering in restaurants that looked like time travel.

Almost-empty bottle of beer dangling from Jean’s fingertips. Cigarette lighter curled in Eren’s palm. The cool summer night circling around them in soft bay breezes as through the cracked front door, talk and laughter and music drifted down the apartment hall. And outside on the third floor porch, sitting on the top step, somewhere in the midst of smoke, tipsy conversation just faded away into Jean staring at Eren and Eren staring back. Jean’s face, shadowy with his back to the porch light. City noise. His eyes glassy and fixed on Eren. Dimpled half-smile, just the ghost of it. And Eren stared back with a tiny smile, too, heart pounding. Wait for it. Wait.

Jean closed the distance—craned forward to kiss him. Eren shrank away slowly. Chin inclined. Eyes hooded. Little breath hovering on his lower lip. He didn’t lean away because he didn’t want it, fuck—he leaned away because that was what you were supposed to do, had to see if Jean really wanted it, if he was willing to go after it—

 _Clink_ of the beer bottle, set hurriedly on concrete. Eren swayed back against the hard metal spindles of the apartment railing as Jean caught him by the lips. Shivers. Sparks. Noses bumping. Jean’s kiss was so hot and soft, polite, curious. Shivering breath, Eren’s lips parting only to close again in reciprocation. Brush of tongue—coy, but confident. Eren pulled Jean closer with a finger curled in his T-shirt collar. Jean broke away and nuzzled down to trail little dusting kisses along the slope of Eren’s neck. He squeezed his eyes shut, tipped his head to and fro for Jean’s mouth, fingers curled in his shirt and face perfectly on fire. Heart pounding. In his throat. Shivered again. Dizzy. He melted into Jean’s shy, gentle affection. Nothing suggestive. Nothing pushy. Nothing but: _I like you_.

_They acknowledge their desire for each other._

* * *

_Six months ago_.

“ _Ah_ —ah—”

“Fuck—good? This okay—doesn’t hurt like this?”

“It’s fi— _shit_ , yeah, oh my God, okay, just like that—like that—”

Eren almost overextended his arm when he put his hand down and practically banana-peeled on the empty condom wrapper, but he had to put his arm down, he couldn’t stay propped up by both elbows much longer, effectively reverse-planking off the edge of Jean’s mattress except for where he tried to keep his legs around Jean’s hips and Jean’s hips crashed into his. Crunched forward, knotted together up against the side of the bed.

He kept sliding off Jean’s lap but Jean held him now, clutched him in place, on his knees bumping into the box spring, breath hot on Eren’s temple. Sticky with sweat. Low grunts and here and there a moan shuddering down the shell of Eren’s ear as Eren finally slid all the way down with a bump to his tailbone—caught himself on his elbow—Jean followed—his abdomen couldn’t take it, his quads couldn’t—so it was just fucking on the floor, one heel digging into the side of the mattress, one arm draped around Jean’s neck and the other thrown up over his head, hand grasping for purchase, anything to fist into—some of Jean’s laundry, once- or twice-worn shirts and pants scattered at the foot of his bed.

A series of raspy, helpless _fucks_ and _shits_ and _come ons_ dripped from Jean’s lips and Eren swallowed them up, gnawing, biting kisses, Jean’s fingers found him between their bodies, found him hard and hot and caught him in a tight hand and Eren’s fingers tangled in Jean’s soft hair, body arching—

“ _Yeah_ , fuck—there—I’m so close—”

“Yeah? I can tell—yeah? This okay—?”

“Yeah, it’s fucking okay—”

 _BAM, BAM, BAM_.

From the other side of Jean’s bedroom door, his roommate Nac yelled, “ _Seriously_ , can you two keep it the _fuck down?!_ ”

_They feel out their desire for each other._

* * *

_Five months ago_.

“I have your coffee,” Jean said when he came into the office Monday morning.

“Thanks,” Eren said, holding a hand out without turning from his computer. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Jean replied, flatly, quickly, and Eren cut him a glance to make sure Jean wasn’t in a bad mood or something. They still weren’t really talking about how much they’d been fooling around since Armin’s party, but that didn’t mean anything was awkward and it didn’t mean Eren was not very familiar with most of Jean’s little nuances and idiosyncrasies.

He checked to make sure Jean had gotten his order right. Hazelnut macchiato, extra shot.

There was no name written in barista bubble letters just under the lip of the lid. No name—a date and time: _July 19, 8:00 p.m._

Eren cocked a brow. “What the fuck is that?” he mumbled around his first slow sip.

“I don’t know,” Jean replied, chair squeaking as he pulled it out and sank down into it. “Maybe check your Google calendar.”

Eren cut him a suspicious glance, flutter of lashes and brief pout. He heaved an inconvenienced sigh and opened a new browser tab, entered his Google calendar—

On Friday, June 19th, there was an item Eren didn’t remember placing. _8 p.m. Date with Jean-bo_.

Eren almost choked on his mouthful of coffee. Okay, he sort of choked, more coughed into the back of his hand and set his coffee down quickly so he could spin around in his chair and give Jean a hard, wide-eyed look. His stomach flopped and he felt like he was blushing all over, not just under his face.

Jean cleared his throat and smiled a little, with those faint dimples that showed up when he was joking or nervous. He raised his brows, tried to look cool and casual.

 _Date_. 

Fucking _smooth_ motherfucker.

Silence in the office. Clock ticking. Little _boop_ of an e-mail notification. Creak of Jean’s chair as he leaned back and shrugged, dimples deepening as the anticipation in his smile turned to hesitant pride.

“Well,” he muttered back. “What do you say? Yeah, you’ll go out with me?”

Eren didn’t quite know what to say, actually. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to—he just hadn’t expected it—okay, he’d kind of been waiting for it—and it had been so smooth, so— _romantic_ —he didn’t mean to worry Jean by not answering—

“Yeah,” Eren finally blurted, unable to keep the stupid smile at bay, eyes wide, face on fire. “Yeah, I’ll go on a date with you. For sure. Shit.”

 _Feel it out, confirm with little romantic gestures_.

* * *

_Present._

Well, this was a Pinch Point if there ever was one.

_Aromantic._

Uncomfortable with romance.

What happened after the funeral. The note. The invitation to stay with him. The key. Dinner in the fridge. The office. No strings attached. Taking him out to dinner the other night. And after—holding him, touching him, moving tenderly from grief to the comfort of kisses and sighs—and something had felt different, something, but Eren couldn’t quite put his finger on it, comforting as it was—

_Emotional bribery._

Hadn’t that all been bait, though? Romantic gestures? Hints that Levi was interested in him—? It was in the master list of romance tropes and plot devices. It was the False Lead. The Reverse Flirting. The Oblivious Attraction. Wasn’t that what Levi had been doing? Pretending he didn’t care, when he did—either to see if Eren cared, or because he didn’t yet realize he cared, or because he was too stubborn to admit he cared. _Don’t fall in love with me._ The Master of Mixed Messages, the Handsome Guilt, the list went on and on.

But it…wasn’t.

_Don’t understand it. Don’t want it. Won’t force myself._

The pattern. The formula. They were real—Eren knew that. It worked in his writing. It was everywhere in the world.

But they just weren’t there for Levi and maybe it wasn’t as strange as it sounded.

_Terrified of being alone._

Eren flopped over to his back, kicking blankets around until his feet stuck out as he stared up at the ceiling. Pale shade of bluish gray night spilling in through the spare bedroom blinds.

Was he even romantically interested in Levi, anyway? Or just lonely? Fuck, was  _he_ the one using him? Someone to be there despite everything in his life that was fucked up, despite all the violent, inarticulate whirlwind inside that—and Levi was there, in a weird way Eren hadn’t expected—

He couldn’t figure out if it was a good or a bad thing that he felt so God damn _relieved_ he didn’t have to worry about romance with Levi.

When he and Jean first started dating—before they crossed that fine line between fooling around and actually seeing each other—the casual thing had always left a sharp metal tang on Eren’s tongue. A tension in his spine, a held breath behind his lips. Waiting. Waiting for this sign, or that cute romantic cue, the step by step that would clearly define everything. But with Levi…

 _If you’d like that, I’d like that_.

Eren never thought he would be so onboard, eager even, for a benefits sort of thing. That was what it was going to be like, right? No pattern, no rules of dating. Maybe it would be nice to get to know Levi that way. Without being constantly on watch for romantic signals, vigilant of every little detail, wondering when and if Levi was going to back him into a wall and say, _Be with me. Be mine, babe_. Though that would have been very sexy. 

Nothing to lose. No expectations. No pressure. No hard work—he could not handle the work of a romantic relationship right now, anyway. No danger of being hurt any more deeply than he had been over the last few months. No fear of the inevitable loss when the romance dwindled away into, _I don’t think it’s working_.

He could just…let go of everything.

* * *

The door to the spare bedroom was closed, lights off. Levi switched off some other house lights, started the dishwasher for the morning. Checked the front door was locked.

_Not fair to him._

Levi dragged Eren’s stupid throw blanket off the couch and folded it in half to drape neatly over the back of the loveseat. He turned off the TV and let the remote slide down out of his fingers to the couch.

 _Not fair to you_.

The light in Eren’s little office was still on.

 _This doesn’t change anything_ , Eren had said, like he was desperate to know Levi still wanted him in some way.

God yes, Levi still wanted him. Wanted to touch him and have him. Wanted to make sure he was okay. Enjoyed his company most of the time—more than he’d expected, somehow, and he wasn’t going to dwell on that because if he did, he’d probably ruin its pleasantness.

But he was still afraid things were going to change whether they wanted them to or not. And then it would all fall apart, again. And again and again.

Levi breathed a slow sigh through his nose and reached up under the shade to switch off Eren’s desk lamp. The apartment was a womb of soft shadows—

Levi switched the lamp back on, frowning.

On the little bookshelf he’d donated to Eren’s makeshift office, there were—well, books. Leaning against each other, clumsily stacked here and there. A shuffled stack of papers marked with red pen. Some well-worn books on poetry and short story anthologies with University of Washington RENTAL stickers plastered on all the worst places, per usual.

And on the bottom shelf of the bookcase, business papers.

Levi crouched down, cautiously tipping the top papers to see what they were—copy of a contract. Copy of agent agreement. Some legal paperwork regarding his mother. Tattered piece of car insurance mail. A tax form. And beneath it all…

Three hard copy manuscripts.

The top was Carla’s first non-Harlequin sale, the original submission. Ink-smudged. A little beat-up. Signed. Pen scratches, notes from the agent, a torn piece of college-ruled paper clipped to the front page, Eren’s scribbles: _Congratulations, Momma!!!_

The second stack was a bit thinner, Courier. Spec script for Carla’s optioned book.

At the bottom—a black three-ring binder. Levi wiggled it out, curious, opened it just enough to steal a peek.

Almost half a ream of paper, a little over an inch thick, neat and binder-clipped. Time New Roman, twelve-point font:

WISTERIA

by

EREN JÄGER

Levi leaned out of the office and checked the spare bedroom, carefully. Like Eren was even anywhere near to catch him thieving through his secrets.  

_If I were Hemingway, I’d be writing what I want to write._

Levi hesitated, if only for a moment. He couldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

But he wanted to read it. Selfishly, sure. He at least wanted to know if it was good enough to snatch up, new business prospect. Unselfishly, too, Levi told himself. Carla had given him that first manuscript to look over years ago, anyway. It wasn’t like Eren’s writing was foreign to him. It was the least Levi could do. Carla would have wanted Eren to give it a shot, ditch the smut books, stop clinging to her legacy—trapping himself, hiding in her memory—

He wanted to know what Eren wrote outside romance novels.

Levi tucked the binder under his arm and switched on the living room lamp. He grabbed a pencil, some Post-its and page tabs, his reading glasses from his desk—it was too dark not to use them. Rain whispered against the windows, against the balcony. He climbed onto the couch and pulled his feet up under him. Dragged the throw blanket down around his shoulders and gingerly flipped the binder open on his lap. His pencil twisted and twirled lazily between his fingers as he turned the title page up.

Levi started to read. 

_Chapter One_

_ELLES VEULENT LA MORT, ELLES BAISENT UN H U N T E R_ —

_It was scrawled on the walls in red paint…_

 

**end ch. viii**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why is it always seattle? is it bc that’s my soul city? or is it some desperate subconscious desire to salvage the city’s name after what ana and christian grey did to it? how could the name christian grey go so so so terribly wrong? that ending piano scene was too good for that movie my god // song pairing – **bastille** | _sleepsong_


	9. The Crossroads Were Never Meant to Be Contentious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His mom had always made a big thing out of the twelve days of Christmas. // “Dude, you have a bunch of hickeys,” Jean said. // Eren paced the kitchen, chewing one thumbnail, the paper with Erwin Smith’s number on it folding up on itself again. // “Aromantic,” Carla said. Levi cleared his throat. “What?” he husked. // “How’re things with Marco?” Jean choked on his coffee like he almost spit-taked or something, but it really wasn’t that crazy of a question. // Unread e-mail: isabelmagnolia@hbgusa.com // “Remember when I said I was not all about your bad attitude polluting my place?” Levi asked. “This is what I was talking about.” // “Eren, those hickeys are huge.” “Oh my God, I know—” // Levi smirked, a weary little perk. He nudged the bathroom door closed and didn’t break from Eren’s eyes until the last second, when he disappeared from sight and all that was left was a thin thread of bathroom light and the soothing rush of water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have yet to experience day-after jizz, i'm sorry future you – song pairing, **the lighthouse and the whaler** | _i want to feel alive_

* * *

His mom had always made a big thing out of the twelve days of Christmas. When he was little—“Eren, come see what you got today!” Pulling the big, colorful advent calendar down off the top of the fridge and passing it over to him for the day’s piece of chocolate. As he got older, all the cute little games and traditions gradually thinned out to only the best few: she kept Christmas music running soft and distant from her portable stereo, she added a new ornament to the little tree each of the counted days, she themed dinner around five golden rings and partridges in pear trees and said, “Eren, seriously? That sweater is terrible. You can’t wear that sweater to the Christmas party.” But Eren wore it anyway, because he was stubborn like that, and it was one of his traditions to compete with Armin and Mikasa for ugliest ugly Christmas sweater.

But this year’s first day of Christmas, Eren was running late for the last class day of the Fall quarter.

He darted around the apartment, brushing his teeth as he hopped into his jeans and struggling into his pullover sweater as he threw his bag together for class. Student papers, his own 20th Century Lit final essay, class journals to return to Form and Tech—

Levi was not making a big thing out of the holiday, like he hadn’t really made a big thing out of Thanksgiving. But he’d put up a few little nutcrackers to guard his tabletop tree, set out warm, spiced Yankee candles nested in a wreath of fake snow-dusted fir and berries in that rosewood tray on the ottoman where he usually kept the remotes and some pens. Eren really hoped he didn’t do it just because he had someone else in his apartment this year, but he couldn’t expect everyone to decorate when they lived alone like he’d probably decorate if he lived alone because it was just something he had to do.

Eren tried to straighten his lopsided sweater around on the wrinkled white T-shirt beneath. Shit—deodorant. And he needed to grab something to eat, but he didn’t have time. God, he was a little sore from last night, too. Don’t think about it. Made him blush. Made him flustered—oh, fuck, day-after jizz—

He almost tripped hurrying back out from the bathroom, heaving an irritated sigh about the brief diversion. Stupid. Such a loser. If he left in literally the next two minutes, he’d probably be able to grab something to eat on the way when he got coffee.

He actually tripped over Levi’s slippers, those cozy almost-moccasin kind with the warm sheepskin insides. Bumped into the ottoman coffee table, which almost knocked over one of the pillar candles, but he caught himself with one hand on the corner of the TV cabinet at least, hissing between his teeth about the way his cotton rag socks didn’t soften the bite of the ottoman foot against his ankle.

To the left of the cabinet was a bookcase, not stuffed but well-filled, creased spines and smooth shining untouched books—maybe books Levi had yet to read or maybe books he’d helped to publish. Historicals, lit fic, whatever. Quirky-looking things. Sad-looking things. Palahniuk- and Keats-looking things. Some Carla Jäger books.

Some E. Rogue books—Eren cringed. God, that was embarrassing. Why the fuck did Levi have some of his pseudonym smut books?

There were a few classy little Hobby Lobby type knickknacks, tiny show-house sort of accoutrements. Levi and his mom had that in common, for sure. Maybe that was part of why Eren felt so comfortable here—it felt like home a little bit sometimes. Wasn’t a jarringly different environment. Jesus, though, how selfish was Eren that he’d been in Levi’s place for weeks now and hadn’t noticed any of this shit? Levi had allowed him into his world and Eren hadn’t even _looked_ at it. Respected it. Acknowledged it—

On the bookcase, a few pictures of Levi and friends. Maybe family. Something posed at a lake house. Something hiking in the mountains, Levi in a patterned sweater looking over his shoulder at whoever took the picture, really young and wide-eyed—happy, even if he wasn’t smiling. Vista of deep green trees sloping and dipping in the distance beyond him, like he stood at the edge of the world. Levi and some people at a long table in a poorly-lit restaurant, faces Eren didn’t expect to recognize and that Hanji he’d met a few weeks ago, and the guy, too—Erwin Smith, right.

Oh. _Right_.

He’d seen this picture before. When he’d been over with his mom years ago. _Who’s this?_ Ex-boyfriend. _Eren, don’t ask that…_ The giant of a man, broad shoulders, practically Nordic tall, that smooth, sort of daunting charisma and the perfect jaw, Levi’s ex-boyfriend whose fucking car Eren had dinged up on his way back from _sleeping with_ _Levi_ —

Eren heaved a sigh. Wait. “Oh, fuck,” he hissed, and hurried to get out the door before he was late enough to get in real trouble.

* * *

All seventeen Form and Tech of Fiction students were seated and roaring with conversation by the time Eren blew into the classroom, balancing a cold Pop Tart on top of his coffee.

“Hey, guys, I’m so sorry—” he blurted, dropping his bag on the table near the white board, next to a package of store-bought cookies. He hurried to pull out all the class material—final projects to return, some earlier projects graded late.

“Hi!” someone chirped.

“Crazy morning?” someone else joked.

“Have a cookie!” Another student pointed to the table. “I brought them for everyone for the last day.”

“Wow, you’re awesome,” Eren said, smiling distractedly over his shoulder. “Hope you guys had fun while I reminded you how terrible of a professor I am.”

“We were just talking.”

“It’s okay, man! It’s the last day!”

“Cool.” Eren sat back against the edge of the table and tried to organize the portfolio folders in a neater stack, propped in one arm. “You guys can look through these, we can chat about them, if you have questions about any marks you can ask, it’s whatever. I have some other stuff to hand out—sorry again for being behind—and then if you want, we can just hang out the rest of the class. You don’t _have_ to stay after you get your stuff, but I mean, Ruth brought cookies, the quarter’s over, you might as well spend like, half an hour having fun before all your exams and stuff. Wait, are you all done with exams or…?”

A strange quiet had settled over the classroom. Eren glanced up without lifting his head, first portfolio to return in hand. A few students on their phones. One on their laptop. Others just sort of fiddling around, watching him. Someone whispered to someone else.

“Guys, are you all that freaked out about your grades?” Eren joked—or, tried to, because the sudden hush was very uncharacteristic of this particular group and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was like he’d missed some punch line. Like the entire class had a secret they weren’t telling him. Like they knew something about him he didn’t.

In the back corner of the room, the class comedian raised his hand and politely said, “Mr. Jäger, you have something, uh…” He gestured at the side of his neck with that nervous, goofball grin Eren recognized as the one he offered when he had no idea what was going on in class. All eyes swung back to the front of the room, as though everyone had been waiting to see if someone would find it appropriate to say something to the professor barely a few years older than them about—

A fucking _hickey_ , wasn’t it?

Right.

Last night—Levi’s mouth up by his ear, on the nape of his neck, just above his collarbone—tangled in his comforter under the spill of nighttime through those glass patio doors—nibbling, nipping, sucking hard, teeth and tongue and pinch of broken blood vessels— _Levi, fucker, knock it off!_ just didn’t bear the same force when it was chopped up by gasps and laughter—mouth on his chest, mouth at his navel—the way his fingers had tightened in Eren’s hair when Eren looked up from his hips—

Eren clapped a hand over the side of his neck, eyes wide. He stared at his students. His students stared back. “Motherfucker,” he edged out below his breath, the heat of embarrassment tingling below his cheeks.

Laughter. Started as polite little chuckles but quickly became a comfortable, unified sort of commiseration. He was only a grad student teaching for his stipend, anyway; they were practically still his peers and that was how it had been all quarter.

Eren slapped the portfolios down on the table and dragged his bag over to the media podium in the corner, miserably. “Go get a cookie and your portfolio,” he mumbled. “And for the love of God, _please_ do not mention the hickeys on ratemyprofessors.com.”

“Hey, man, it’s all good, you’re a dude, we’re all human, everyone gets hickeys,” the class comedian comforted around a cookie. “I mean, at least some of us are having a good finals week, I guess. Right?” 

* * *

 

“Dude, you have a bunch of hickeys,” Jean said.

Eren lifted his chin from his palm just enough to give Jean a briefly bewildered look—oh.

“Yeah, I fucking know,” he grumbled, face on fire. “My morning class already filled me in.”

Jean uttered a short, cut-off laugh, brows raised. “Holy shit, seriously?”

Eren cut him a pathetic little pout, which was really a scowl trying not to become sheepish laughter as he nodded slowly. Like, really, though—how did stuff like that happen in real life? Jean shook his head, smirking, tongue along the teeth. Silent chuckles that faded away into a silence like a held breath. There were a lot of those between them lately, just the two of them at their computers in the office. Sometimes alone, sometimes not. It wasn’t quite as suffocating as a few weeks ago. But it still felt heavy.

“So,” Jean grunted after a moment. “You’ve got a new thing?”

 _New thing_. He made it sound so casual, so flippant. Eren wasn’t quite sure what to think of it—why it flustered him so much—in a good way, in a bad way. Did Jean mean to imply he was prone to casual hookups, or was he too shy to ask if Eren found a new boyfriend, too? Had he expected him to mope around and be single longer than hickeys said he had? Was he jealous—had they not spent enough time away from each other to let the embers of four months’ dating die out, or was being jealous just a matter of selfishness in both exes after a breakup?

Eren cleared his throat, hoped the quick wave of new heat that raged in his cheeks wasn’t obvious. _Obviously_ , he wanted to say. _Look at my neck_. But he didn’t. He just said in a tiny way, “Yeah.”

Jean’s gaze fixed on him. Eren slid a glance over to meet it, from the corner of his eye.

He looked…worried. Genuinely interested and honestly curious. He wanted to know as a friend. Not as an ex—as a _friend_.

Eren wilted, tossed his eyes away. Kind of embarrassed with how much he liked that—starting their friendship over, no hard feelings. Well, not a total do-over. Just a joint, unspoken admission of guilt and apology for whatever the fuck had happened.

And Eren really, really liked the idea of that. To feel like _friends_ again. He didn’t know why it had been so hard to do before. Maybe he just didn’t have room anymore for resentment, for bitter whininess. Maybe because he had Levi—

“So, you really like him?” Jean asked carefully, clearly trying to make sure it came across supportive and casual and anything other than nosy.

Eren snorted, giving Jean a funny look. “What the fuck kind of—why would I get involved with someone I don’t like?”

_You really like him?_

_Don’t fall in love_.

Right, but liking was different. And it wasn’t even the old crush, it was—yes, Eren liked Levi. As a person. As a bedmate. As something kind of close to a friend but still in a relatively ambiguous area that was both terrifyingly unknown but really thrilling somehow.

“Yeah,” Eren answered the question, heaving a sigh and flicking Jean a defenseless look.

“Good.” Jean nodded.

“Oh,” Eren scoffed kindly, “as my ex you think you get to approve or disapprove now?”

“No, as your friend I just don’t want you rebounding.”

“ _Wow_ , excuse me.”

Jean rolled his eyes, laughing in exasperation and dragging a hand down the side of his face. “Jesus, Eren, I meant I’m just happy you’re happy.”

Eren bit his tongue between his teeth to keep his smile in line, hunched low in front of his computer again. _Happy you’re happy_. “I know,” he said. “I’m teasing…”

The office door swung open, bringing with it a chopped-off burst of hallway noise. Eren looked up from behind his arm. Jean stretched back in his creaky chair.  

Marco.

“Hey, babe,” Jean greeted quietly. Marco smiled as Jean reached from his chair to wind him in against the desk for a one-armed hug.

“Hey,” Marco said. “I brought you lunch.”

“No way—shit, you’re the best.”

“Are you busy today?”

“Sort of. Not really. Just trying to wrap some things up on Canvas. The weekend’s going to suck, though. I’ll have like, twenty Greek-Roman myth analysis essays to read before grades go up.” 

“Well, I have to work Saturday night, so it’s cool.”

“I’ll work on them at Tea Rep, then.”

 _I’m just happy you’re happy_. 

“How are you, Marco?” Eren asked, and he and Jean swung uncertain glances his way like they hadn’t expected civility. Eren issued a huff of a sigh and drummed a finger on his cheek. Marco’s eyes danced down to his neck and Eren sighed again, more impatiently, resting his head in his hand.

Marco set Jean’s lunch down—a paper Einstein’s Bagels bag, a coffee—and shoved his hands in his pockets. Jean’s arm was still on his side, just sort of drifting there, thumb hooking and unhooking in the belt loop of his cords.

“I’m good, actually,” Marco said, smiling brightly. All freckles and tousled Princeton cut. He wasn’t a bad guy at all, honestly. He really wasn’t. And Jean was a sweet guy, too. A huge softie. Look at them. So sugary. Gross. And—somehow, in a bruised but hopeful way, Eren really liked seeing it from the outside. The closeness. The romance. Honeymoon phase or not. The parts of Jean he knew, given to someone else. Proof that he’d actually had those parts of Jean and he hadn’t somehow made them up.

 _I’m just happy you’re happy_.

It took Eren until he and Jean were on their way to Red Square to meet Armin and Mikasa for a Christmas shopping trip that Eren was finally able to say it. Out in the crisp December air, cold in a way that felt purifying deep in the chest, bit the fingertips and gnawed at the nose, coats and scarves and Jean’s beanie and Eren asked:

“How’re things with Marco?”

Jean’s gloves made a scratching sound when a few fibers caught the corner of his coffee sleeve and he licked his lips with his chin jutted out like he’d almost spit-taked or something. Eren gave him a dubious look, nose wrinkled. It really wasn’t that crazy of a question.

“Um, good,” Jean muttered, wiping at his mouth with the back of a gloved hand.

“You guys are disgustingly cute,” Eren mumbled.

“You think so?” Jean mumbled back.

“Yeah,” Eren murmured. “And I’m happy you’re happy.”  

Jean smiled at nothing in particular when he realized Eren was returning the well wishes he’d given earlier—a tiny smile, barely there. But a smile Eren knew, too. “Oh, there they are,” he said, gesturing with coffee in hand at Armin and Mikasa across the way. “By the library. Hey…”

Eren hunched lower in his coat, tightening his fists in the pockets because his gloves didn’t seem to be doing anything today. The wind was a little sharp. “What?”

Armin waved from the library steps, sweatshirt hood up where it peeked out of the collar of his toggle coat. Mikasa sat on the stairs, arms crossed, red scarf dancing along her shoulders.

“You’re still coming to Friends-mas, right?” Jean husked. “Mikasa’s all tweaked out you won’t, so don’t be surprised if she hounds you about it today.”

“Yeah, of course I’m going,” Eren said. “It’s on actual Christmas, right? In the afternoon?”

“Yeah. Cool. Just wanted to, you know, make sure. You’ve been all antisocial.”

“I have not, I’m just busy.”

“Well, stop being busy and bring your boyfriend with.”

Eren swung an elbow into the back of Jean’s arm, gently. “I didn’t say he’s my boyfriend,” he corrected. “And he’s definitely not coming.”

Jean laughed around his coffee, grinning in that way somewhere between a smirk and a smile. Grabbed Eren’s scarf and gave it a tug, snickering as Eren snatched for it but missed and they strolled to a stop before the others. “Well, fuck, you don’t want us to meet him? That’s not a good sign.” 

“Meet who?” Armin asked, scooping up his bag and spinning his car keys on his finger.

“Eren, those hickeys are huge,” Mikasa said without standing, brow cocked.  

“Oh my God, _I know_ ,” Eren groaned, ripping his scarf out of Jean’s hands and putting it back on. “Can we go now? Before traffic gets too bad at the mall? Seriously?”

* * *

_Seven years ago._

“Well, you guys feel like Mom and Dad staying together for the kids,” Carla said in a laugh, but it was a very hollow sound as she tossed hair over her shoulder to catch and run her fingers through, _tap, tap-tap, tap_ of her heels as she and Levi made their way to her car. Whisper of her jacket and whiff of sweet perfume. Glow of the Pike Place sign over the cobbled road.

Levi sighed, rubbing at one temple with his palm. He’d moved past being angry and he’d moved past being guilt-angry, and now he just felt sort of numb and blue. Not sure what to think, not sure what to feel. Erwin had waited behind outside the bar, let Levi walk Carla to her car on his own.

“What do you mean?” Levi mumbled.

Carla stopped with a gentle scrape of her heels on the cobblestone to give Levi a chastising look over the top of her car. He frowned back, hands shoved deep in his pockets and shoulders drawn.

Carla folded her arms on the car and said, as the nighttime breeze tossed her hair here and there at her brow, “Are you guys…?”

Levi trudged over to mirror her from the passenger side, face half buried in his crossed arms. “It’s been a little rough.” 

“Tell me about it,” Carla urged kindly, propping her cheek against one hand.

A week ago. Dark living room. Wine-stained glassware. Throw pillows on the floor. Rug rumpled and disheveled from stomping feet. Levi, slamming things around in the kitchen. Erwin pacing, arms crossed, arms swinging, hands raking through his hair over and over and over. Topless. Jeans still undone.

“I don’t know what to _do_ , Levi!”

 _Slam_. _Squeak_ of a stool where Levi kicked it in closer at the two-person bar table.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m trying, okay?”

Levi stormed out and into the bedroom.

“Levi, you know I’m trying not to be _too romantic_ —”

Levi ripped back out of the room with a scrape of his fingernails against the doorframe, seething. “You think I’m a moron, don’t you? ‘Too romantic’—Jesus fucking _Christ_ , are you not aware of how disparaging you said that? You still think I’m making it up, don’t you?”

“Well, it’s fucking _hard_ to put so much into something and feel like it’s not even noticed! You make me feel like shit when I do nice things and you don’t give a fuck—” Erwin was at his limits. Always looked so much broader and taller when he got like that, when he was desperate to be heard, voice filling the room.

“Oh, so this is about stroking your ego?” Levi hissed. “Fuck my comfort level, right? It’s about _you_ —”

“Yes!” Erwin had howled, and his eyes were dark, pained blue. “It’s about how I feel! All I want is to care for you, to know you know I care for you, and I can’t ever satisfy you. _I don’t satisfy you!_ ”

Fear. Guilt. Fury. Resentment. Helplessness. Levi had stood there, clutching at the doorframe, breathing hard, heart in his throat—

Seabirds called from the rooftops of shut-up market shops.

Levi drummed his knuckles atop Carla’s car. He shrugged, limply. Felt so heavy. Empty. Terrible. _Selfish_. What kind of selfish motherfucker offered nothing in return for someone else’s love? What kind of man wanted to know people loved him, but didn’t want them to show it, didn’t want them to expect the same from him, made them feel worthless because they gave and gave and he—

“I just can’t handle it, Carla,” he said, embarrassed by how rough his voice sounded. How fragile, how tattered. But the words just came out. “I can’t handle the whole romance thing. It’s so overwhelming. I care for him—I do, I want him in my life. I love him in a way that’s not—that’s _not_ romantic. But planned dates, little gifts, PDA, anniversaries, Valentine’s Day, sex with the lights on, just all the random cutesy stuff makes me so fucking uncomfortable. I feel—trapped. I don’t know why it makes me feel like I can’t breathe. And it’s not _him_ , it’s just the sappy shit. The lovey-dovey shit, it feels so _forced_. I’ve tried, Carla. I’ve tried to be romantic, but it’s like—I have to fucking _Google_ it because I have no idea what to do! And when I do it, it feels so— _fake_ —I get agitated, I feel awkward, and it’s not fair to him. It’s not fair I don’t give him what he gives me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m selfish. I’m broken or something. I’m an asshole and I’m taking advantage of him every day—”

“Aromantic,” Carla said.

Levi cleared his throat, lashes fluttering. “What?” he husked.

“I just learned about all these new orientations,” she explained. “At that convention in San Francisco, Ro-No. There was a whole panel on them and how romance novels somehow serve them despite being non-queer. It was really interesting. But—aromantic. Demiromantic, grey-romantic… It means—well, it’s a personal thing, but in general it means that you aren’t inclined to romance.”

Levi scoffed, harshly. Didn’t mean to be so cruel; hated the way Carla reared back just a bit, brow knotting. “Sorry,” Levi murmured. “I just—what, so I’m some heartless jerk who doesn’t love anyone?”

“I didn’t say aromance is not _loving_ someone,” Carla replied, mouth barely moving around the words, with that wide-eyed somewhat daunting stare—the stubborn, unswaying firmness so often reserved for her son or hard topics of conversation. “Maybe it’s exactly what you said to me just now. About not knowing what to do, feeling like it’s fake, feeling suffocated and… I mean, I didn’t say _you’re_ aromantic. I just brought it up because I thought maybe it would make you feel better.”

“Well—” Levi said below his breath, but it stopped there—nothing to follow. The start of a reply, with no reply behind it.

They stood in silence, staring at each other across the top of Carla’s car. Carla with that intensity in her eyes, the kind of fated soulfulness that had shot her books to the Bestsellers List, that she scraped from herself and put into the pages like some magic spell, that made her such an unexpected and inexplicable force in Levi’s life, here and there throughout the year, maybe only once the next year, so on and so forth… He had Hanji and Erwin, the kind of best friends that made him feel whole. He had Petra and Nile, his other school friends. And he had Carla, the kind of friend who somehow felt—like an older sister sometimes. Gentle. Knowing. Protective.

_Not inclined to romance. Didn’t say…not loving someone._

Levi’s stomach was in a knot yet at the same time, he felt like a wind blew right through him. Open and empty in a way that suddenly made him feel weightless. Breathless. _Aromantic_.

 _Tap-tap, tap, tap-tap_ —

Carla met Levi on the other side of the car and locked her arms around his shoulders. In her heels, she was a few inches taller than him. The hug was a little bit uncertain, out of politeness. But then Levi relaxed and hugged her back, propped his chin up on her shoulder and closed his eyes. She swayed a little. Such a mother, still. Rubbed his back with both hands vigorously before pulling away and tapping back to the driver’s side door.

“Just—consider it,” she said authoritatively. “And don’t beat yourself up.”

Levi waited until she’d turned up Pine and disappeared towards 1st, hunched under a streetlamp, arms crossed, collar dancing against his throat. He was still smiling faintly as he made his way back up the cobbled hill to the bar, to Erwin. Hooked his arm around Erwin’s side below his coat. Held the other hand out and husked, “Can I bum a cigarette, Smith? Light it for me.” And reveled in the shy, shocked confusion with which Erwin looked at him as he gave him a small smile over the _flick_ of the lighter.  

* * *

_Present._

Surrounded by plastic berry-studded Christmas wreaths and Season’s Greetings banners, Trans-Siberian Orchestra’s _Sarajevo_ a soothing hum from around the corner in the apartment lounge where the mounted widescreen had been perpetually set to the holiday music channel since mid-November, Eren stood in front of Levi’s open mail locker gawking at the top piece of mail.

_Aunt Vera & Uncle Jazzy, 4502 Lambda Cir, Astoria, OR_

_Happy birthday and Merry Xmas Levi!_  

Happy birthday.

Eren dragged all his folders out of his closet-office—ripped through his little box of important paperwork—where the _fuck_ was that scrap of paper on which Erwin had scribbled his phone number after the accident back in October? Was it on the actual insurance mail—did he still have it in his phone? Was it—

Eren paced the kitchen back and forth, chewing at the corner of one thumbnail, the paper with Erwin Smith’s number on it folding up on itself again next to his phone on the counter. Levi’s ex. Levi’s _friend_. Probably didn’t give a fuck what Eren had to say because he’d known Levi longer and he didn’t know Eren at all. Probably still wondered what the fuck Eren was doing with Levi—unless Levi had already told him, and if Levi had told him, that made things a whole new sort of awkward—

Eren dialed the number. He stood rigid in front of the island counter, not chewing anymore so much as he just flicked his thumbnail off the edge of his teeth. _Booop_. _Booop_ …

“ _This is Erwin Smith. I’m sorry I’ve missed your call. Leave a message and_ …”

“Um, hi,” Eren sputtered after the beep. “Uh, it’s Eren. With Levi. I mean, it’s just me, the Eren staying with—you know who I am, what the fuck. Okay, anyway, I just found out Levi’s birthday is coming up. Or maybe it passed. I don’t know. He got a card from family that said ‘Happy Birthday’ and ‘Merry Christmas,’ so—anyway, what should we do for his birthday, Erwin—?”

“ _If you’d like to hear your message, press one. If you’d like to re-record your message, press two_.”

Eren hung up and shoved his phone into his back pocket, stood there with his arms crossed and two fingers pinched in his sleeve at the elbow, fiddling, twisting.

He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly so bent on doing something for Levi’s birthday. He wasn’t required to; he hadn’t even known about it until now. But he figured it was the least he could do in thanks for the spare bedroom, the unlimited crash time, the office, the shared space, the least he could do as far as _getting to know_ the guy. Unless he didn’t tell Eren because he didn’t want Eren to know. But that was stupid. But maybe he didn’t like celebrating his birthday. But people didn’t just go around telling other people, _My birthday is blah blah_.

Maybe he just felt like he had to take his mom’s place, be there for Levi. Be Levi’s friend. Something like that.

Eren took a deep breath and sighed it through his nose, mouth in a firm line. Whatever, it was done. He needed to go order those gifts for Armin and Mikasa before it took too long for them to ship.

* * *

_Unread e-mail: isabelmagnolia@hbgusa.com <Subject: New York?>_

_Hey, big bro. Whisperings about possible acquisition editor opening at Little Brown next year. Keep it in mind and I’ll keep you posted. NYC, baby! P.S. Happy bday!!! P.S. #2 Miss your grumpy face._

_Isabel Magnolia, Publicity Assistant, Hachette Books._

Levi read and reread the e-mail open on the screen of his iPhone only three times in a row, standing stiff and mildly dumbfounded outside his apartment door. He hit Reply. He stared at the empty message draft. He closed the e-mail app—opened it again to mark Isabel’s e-mail unread again, high importance, and shoved his phone in his pocket.

“What the fuck is this?”

Eren’s head popped up from the long couch, all messy hair and sweater sleeves flirting with his knuckles. “What?” he said, laptop lopsided against his thigh.

Levi let the front door slam shut and stood, coat over one arm, bag really biting at his shoulder as he gestured wide and wild at the explosion of papers blocking the apartment entryway. “ _This_.”

“Oh, yeah,” Eren grunted, and he really didn’t sound very remorseful or urgent as he got up and wandered over.

Levi sighed and stepped over the mess, avoided brushing against Eren as they crossed paths near the kitchen. “Well, can you clean it up?”

“Holy shit, what crawled up your ass and died?” Eren snapped. Rustle of paper, slap of folders.

Levi threw his coat down over the back of the loveseat and eased his bag off his shoulder, casting Eren a sharp frown over his shoulder. Eren wasn’t looking. Levi could tell he was sulking, though. Such a fucking kid still.

“Nothing,” Levi muttered, rubbing at the side of his neck. Traffic was terrible as the holiday drew closer. The roads were a fucking mess and it killed his back sometimes. “But by the way, you asking like that doesn’t make the situation any better.”

“Oh my God, I forgot to pick my papers up, it’s not the end of the world, Levi.”

“Well, you could have at least said sorry before being a snotty brat about it.”

“ _You’re_ a brat,” Eren grumbled under his breath, and it was just harmlessly, childishly petulant enough that Levi let it go with an eye-roll.

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” he said flatly, swinging open a cupboard.

“Yeah,” Eren replied just as impersonally. “If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been buying my own groceries.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Just let me know if my orange juice or my spaghetti are in your way.”

“Jesus Christ, Eren—” Levi swung the cupboard shut again without even pulling out the carton of Pacific tomato bisque he’d gone for in the first place and glared at Eren where Eren glared at him from the floor looking at least a mite guilty as charged.

_New York?_

“Remember when I said I was not all about your bad attitude polluting my place?” Levi asked. “This is what I was talking about.”

Eren gestured meekly, papers flapping. But his brow was knotted and his frown much more like a helpless pout now. “You came in and just started bitching at me, Levi.” 

True. Levi’s mouth tightened and he gnawed at the inside of his lower lip for a moment, tapping one finger against the cupboard door. Finally he felt like he could talk without venom and he said slowly, “I’ve had a long fucking day and you are really annoying me right now, and I just need some fucking space, Eren. That’s all.”

Eren was quiet for a moment. Staring at Levi, but not really looking at him, eyes dark. Shrugged limply. Still had an edge to his voice as he said, “I can leave whenever you want me to. I mean, it’s really weird I’m still here, anyway. We’re not even dating, we’re just sleeping together. That’s not exactly when you’re supposed to live together. It’s pathetic and I’m invading your space and totally mooching off you and I don’t even know you.”

 _Don’t even know you_.

“Knock it the fuck off, I didn’t say any of that shit,” Levi hissed below another sigh, covering his eyes to rub at his temples for a moment. He could feel Eren’s eyes burning into him. God, how had he forgotten what a little ball of rage Carla’s son was? And he really was not in any semblance of a mood to hear that dating formula thing again, romance, sleeping together, living together, wedding bells, what the fuck ever.

 _Possible acquisition editor opening_.

“I don’t care if you’re staying here,” Levi muttered. He just couldn’t even find the energy to keep up with Eren’s level of passive aggression. “You’re not invading. I just said I need _space_ , Eren. Please chill. You’re making my headache worse.”

Something in Eren snapped; Levi saw it. Or maybe it gave way, like a plate shift, somewhere deep along his hidden fault lines. Like he only then realized how ridiculously he’d lashed out. Worry twisted his mouth, matched the twist in his brow. As if he feared he’d committed some grave crime and was preparing for the sentence. Ready for Levi to hate him, kick him out. Levi sighed. The kid was so fucking fragile. He wasn’t sure how to handle it, but he could at least remember it when it drove him crazy. He’d been there once. Maybe he was still there, sometimes.

And in all truth—Levi was a little worried, too. Not about the bickering; they were both stubborn and opinionated, which was fire and gasoline, so that was to be expected.

But he knew he was getting attached to someone when they argued. Because arguing meant he was starting to invest. Starting to care.

_NYC, baby!_

And somehow, even though they’d talked about things, that still made Levi nervous. Because after all these weeks, he still couldn’t figure out how this had happened, how they’d come together like this. And he really had no way of knowing what was going to happen next.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Levi murmured, waving a hand as if to say, _It’s okay. It’s done._

Eren stood and started putting all his papers away in the closet office.

* * *

Eren didn’t know why lately his emotions went all haywire over the stupidest things. _Dealing with it in your own way_ , his dad had said. _Not a good thing to shut yourself up right now…_

He waited until he heard the master bath shower turn off. He was only a little bit nervous, slipping in through the half-open door and into Levi’s dim room. He’d only really been in Levi’s room for two reasons in the last month and a half, when he offered to do laundry or empty the trash, and—well, the obvious. Rattle of the shower curtain, muffled thud of Levi’s steps. 

Eren climbed up onto the bed with a soft rustle of blankets, faint squeak of the mattress. Slid down to his elbow, to the blankets. Familiar scent of shared laundry detergent and Levi’s skin. Eren slid his phone out of his fingers and tipped it to read over again the novel of a text message from Erwin.

From: 425-778-3011

_Hey Eren. His birthday is Dec 25. Crazy, right? We_

_always hang out and do “not Xmas” dinner together_

_so there is that. You’re welcome to join, I am sure. I_

_wish I could tell you what to do for sure but he is really_

_hard to figure out sometimes, I’m sure you know LOL_

_If anything just make him get out of the house for the_

_day, he’ll bitch about Xmas a lot but he will appreciate._

Eren sighed and flipped his phone face down and buried into his arms.

He felt so heavy. Felt really bad—felt like a mess. Felt like he’d brought too much baggage to Levi and didn’t really deserve how much Levi did for him. How did this even go? The casual thing. Eren didn’t know the pattern of it. Was this the beginning of the end of the casual no strings no romance thing’s honeymoon phase? Did that even exist?

But he was afraid, throat tight, mouth dry. Afraid he’d forgotten how to operate on his own. He’d always had his mom before. If he didn’t have Levi, he’d be at Armin’s, or Mikasa’s. If he still had Jean, he’d be at Jean’s. If he really had no one, he’d be at his dad’s. He didn’t know how to be alone. He didn’t want to be alone.

 _I can leave whenever you want me to_.

Levi opened the door a few inches with an almost violent rattle of the doorknob, peeked out—impatient, appraising. He’d heard Eren come in. Steam rolled behind him in the bathroom lights. Towel around his waist. He left the door cracked and used another towel to dry his hair. Disappeared from view and came back half-dressed in those Mariners lounge pants. Eren didn’t realize he shaved at night. Sink running, shaving gel, swivel-head razor. That koi tattoo swam along his ribs. Such a crazy pretty piece, some modern twist on the traditional—narrow, elegant, all sketchy black lines and only a splash of blues for color.

Levi tapped his razor on the edge of the sink, ran it under the rush of hot water and went back to his face. Propped against the sink with his free hand, at the right angle to carve all the shapes of his forearm, his bicep, his shoulder for Eren to admire. God, he was such a moron for the guy. Just kind of obsessed with everything about him. In a different way. The Levi in his memories sort of felt like a shadow, like a fill-in. All the old things Eren knew—the way Levi looked, sounded, moved, acted, everything—felt so _new_ somehow. 

And it wasn’t a crush and it wasn’t like he was breaking the rules—fuck no, he was not falling for Levi Ackerman. He was just actually coming to know him and somehow he really, really liked the guy as a person. Caveat: he was hot, too.

Levi caught him staring. Stood there propped over the sink, water running, razor hanging limp. He looked bothered for a moment, confused.

Eren swallowed hard and fought to hold Levi’s clear, gray-blue eyes. He wanted to say, _I don’t want to leave_. He didn’t.

And yet—Levi’s face softened like he’d heard him say it anyway. And then he smirked, very faintly, a little perk of the mouth that was sort of weary. Hooded eyes. A little bit patronizing, in the sexy way, the sexy older guy way. _You’re so frustrating, Eren._ Wordlessly, Levi nudged the bathroom door closed with the ball of his foot. Didn’t break from Eren’s eyes until the last second, when he disappeared from sight and all that was left was a thin thread of bathroom light and the soothing rush of water.

Eren flipped his phone over and over idly, just laying there. It took him a few breaths to realize he was smiling a little.

 

 

**end ch. ix**


	10. Dark and Moody Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From: 425-778-3011 – 'Don’t make it seem like a bday thing. Make it seem like thanks for letting you stay with him.' // Whisper of bare feet on the linoleum, rattle of cabinet doors behind Levi’s knee and Eren’s heels as he hoisted himself up to the edge of the counter and Levi followed, opened his legs like a gate— // Grisha gave Levi a quick once-over. “That’s very—considerate. It’s really nice. I didn’t know you two knew each other that well.” // 1992. His mom wasn’t all bad. Even if she was, Levi loved her all the same. “You’re my good little man, and one day, you’re going to be someone else’s good man, too.” // “You didn’t do this for me,” Levi snapped. “You just wanted to distract yourself from missing your mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **DOUBLE UPDATE bc i'll be at METROCON next friday!**
> 
> yes i know 7th and aloha are in seattle, not Oregon, but it’s the image in my head and i can’t change it, also pls love these songs as much as i do, double update double song pairing – **wolf colony** | _dark and moody_ & **the xx** | _together_

* * *

 

“Why can’t you spend all day with family?”

“Dad, I have a lot of people I care about. I split Christmas up every year, you know that.”

“Freida won’t be there.”

“Dad, it’s not about _Freida_.”

To: 425-778-3011

_what do you think i should do_

“What are you doing? You’re all muffled.”

“I’m texting someone, Dad.”

“So you’re coming over this morning—obviously everyone’s waiting to open presents until we get there—and then you’re doing what again?”

“I have my friends-only Christmas. At Mikasa’s place.”

_Bvvt. Bvvt._

From: 425-778-3011

_You could take him out to lunch or something?_

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Dad, _no_ —”

“I just want to see where you’re staying right now.”

“Dad, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

_Bvvt. Bvvt._

From: 425-778-3011

_Don’t make it seem like a bday thing. Make_

_it seem like thanks for letting you stay with him._

“I want to see.”

Eren groaned low through his teeth, a short, petulant, wordless rebuttal as he pulled up his boxer briefs and wiped some shower steam off the mirror to assess his towel-dried hair. _I want to see_. His dad was worried. It was killing him. He could hear it. Even really frustrating ex-husband dads cared about their grown children and their dead ex-wives and really Eren knew he was getting too old to be annoyed by everything all the time.

To: 425-778-3011

_awkward ha. but good idea. suggestions?_

“Fine, Dad.” He owed him. “I’ll text you the address.”

“Thank you. Wear something nice-ish, please. I can’t wait to see you.”

“ _Levi!_ ” Eren howled once he ended the call, tossing his phone into the towel crumpled on the counter. He wiped away shower steam again and knocked over pretty much everything on his way to his after shave.

“What?” came Levi’s eventual reply, muffled by door and bathroom fan. Still slapping one side of his face, Eren tugged the door open on a rush of cold air and went back to the mirror.

“My dad’s stopping by,” he said before he could hate himself for it too much to say it.

Levi was quiet. Leaned there in the door for a moment, all gray Henley and stonewashed Levi’s—ha, the jeans. Levi wearing Levi’s. All right, it wasn’t that funny.

Levi cleared his throat and slipped into the bathroom, sat down on the closed toilet and crossed one leg over the other like he crossed his arms, leaning forward against his knee. Flick of the brow. Trying to keep a poker face about it, probably. He knew Eren’s dad, vaguely. Eren knew he didn’t particularly like Eren’s dad, out of principle. Or maybe it was just that Eren’s dad stopping by made the fact that Eren was staying with him a little too real.

“He’s picking me up for family Christmas,” Eren explained with a limp shrug. Wet his toothbrush, glanced covertly at Levi through the mirror as he started brushing his teeth, hoping to gauge his thoughts by the look on his face or something. Nada. Just Levi being Levi, all coolly nonchalant in a way like he was bored with the world in general.

Eren spit, washed his mouth, spit again. Tapped his toothbrush clean on the side of the sink and dried his face before venturing, “Um, do you want to—go to lunch after?”

Levi shrugged, leaning against the wall. His foot wagged a little hard. He drew a deep breath through his nose, sighed long and weary. “Why not? I have nothing to do until Erwin and Hanji come over tonight and I’m sure as hell not staying home watching ‘The Year Without a Santa Clause.’”

“Not even ‘Home Alone?’” Eren grinned, tongue between the teeth. “‘Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal.’ That’s on the sweater I’m wearing today. My dad’s going to love it.”

Levi just sighed again—this time that sigh that said he was pretending to be annoyed.

The steam had mostly crept off the mirror. Eren adjusted his boxer briefs, thumbs sliding beneath the waistband. Stood on his tiptoes and leaned forward a little to straighten out the legs on his thighs; he hated when they were too low and uneven. _Happy birthday, by the way_. Did he say it? Erwin had said not to mention it. Maybe he’d say it at lunch anyway, surprise Levi because Levi surely didn’t expect Eren to know about it, seeing as he hadn’t mentioned it. Let him know that Eren was _getting to know him_ and he wasn’t as untouchable as he wanted people to think he was—

Eren’s eyes flickered around to peek at Levi through the mirror again and he froze. Because he hadn’t expected to find Levi already staring back—instant eye contact. Caught him off guard. That catlike stare. Lashes lowered. Bored but not bored at all. Didn’t mean to be caught, yet unashamed of the crime.

 _Oh_.

Eren’s face flushed. He was, after all, standing on tiptoe half-naked and shower fresh with his body arched, hips back a little so he could adjust snug-fit boxer briefs along the curve of his—practically putting on a show here—

He almost choked on a startled laugh, a short, hard sound of embarrassment.  

Levi didn’t say anything. Just smiled, that sexy little perk of the mouth to one side, the one that seemed highly amused, in awe at Eren’s lack of awareness. _Cute_ , that smirk teased. Almost goofy. Almost taunting. Eren saw it a lot. Like a parent with a kid who asked a lot of stupid questions. Like he’d smirked at him that first night when Eren wouldn’t shut up about _Erin Brockovich_.  

Well, fuck it.  

Without losing the staring contest, Eren slid his thumbs out from the back of his shorts with a very faint, provocative _snap_ of the cotton against his skin. God, they were the A &F ones, too. Could he look any more like a dumbass? He sank slowly back down to his heels and leaned forward against the counter on locked arms. Still a bit flustered, he gave Levi a knowing little smile and said, “Sorry. I forgot you were there.”

* * *

Whisper of bare feet on the linoleum, rattle of cabinet doors behind Levi’s knee and Eren’s heels as Eren hoisted himself up to sit on the edge of the counter and Levi followed, opened Eren’s legs like a gate, let Eren drag him by the shoulder, by the side of the face into a crashing kiss and smoothed his hand down his stomach and into the front of his clean shorts.

“Oh my _God_ —”

Levi lost count of how many times he whispered breathlessly against Eren’s bare shoulder, “You okay?” because getting a hand job sitting up on the edge of the bathroom counter like that couldn’t have been very comfortable at all.

“Yeah, fine, Levi—oh, fuck—”

Gasps, bursting against his ear. That childhood summer sweetness of his hair and skin where Levi buried into his neck. Close—so close—so fucking ready himself by the time Eren pushed him back and Levi sat down with a gentle _thud_ on the edge of the bathtub and Eren’s fingernails scraped eagerly across denim, zipper, button. Hot mouth—graze of teeth, thumb trailing tongue up tight, sensitive skin—the tiny purr of a stifled grunt from the back of Eren’s throat—

“Fuck, man, I just took a shower, too…” Eren whined, double checking in the mirror for any tiny smear of come he may have missed washing off.

Levi dragged his hands down his face where he slouched in the bathtub still, where he’d slid backwards with his legs thrown over the side, socked feet dangling above the floor. He didn’t want to zip up his pants yet. Too close to orgasm, still. Too tender and ultrasensitive. He sighed as he dropped his hands to his lap, opened his eyes slowly and found exactly what he’d expected—Eren, boxer briefs riding his hips again, smiling at him over his shoulder. Hair tousled and face still flushed, eyes wide. Innocent. Lazily heated.

Levi smiled back faintly, raised his brows.  

 _Bvvt. Bvvt_.

Eren sighed, shifting from foot to foot, adjusting himself at the front of his shorts now as he checked his phone with the other hand. Levi rolled his eyes. God, wasn’t the kid fantastic. From consciously sensual and seductive to utterly unaware again in a matter of seconds—

Eren choked on a breath. “He’s in the garage,” he blurted. His phone thudded against the bathroom counter. “ _Fuck_ —”

Levi sighed.

Eren’s dad, at the front door. Eren barely getting his pants buttoned before he threw it open and sputtered, “Hey, Dad, hi, let me just grab my shoes…”

The awkward was strong with this one. Not Eren, but his dad. Levi could practically feel the unasked questions piling up in the quiet as Eren hurried to get his shoes on then swore again below his breath and ran off to get Christmas presents from the spare room.

Grisha Jäger, successful doctor but so preoccupied, so absent. Grisha Jäger, never there for Carla anymore. Grisha Jäger, disdainful of the literary life. Grisha Jäger, nice guy, but an absolute failure at the poster family man he so obviously wanted to be in the end—

“You’re not mooching, are you?” Grisha pressed in a low, thin way, like he had sincere doubts about who Eren knew with an apartment downtown, just standing in the open front door waiting for his mess of a son to pull himself together enough to get going.

“Hey, you know what I really want for Christmas?” Eren chirped. He dropped a shoe on the floor, loudly. Or maybe he threw it. Levi smirked faintly. “For you to take a break from the whole ‘you’re a lazy failure’ shit. No, I’m not mooching.”

All right, enough. Levi hoisted himself out of the tub and fastened his jeans, swiped off the bathroom light on his way out and over into the kitchen.

Startled, Grisha’s body language tightened up. First he looked absolutely horrified to know Eren’s host had been there to hear him— _mooching_. Then he looked dejected, at a loss, like he’d been prepared to feel jilted by the roommate his son had chosen over him after his mother’s death, but certainly had not expected it to be a man a little too old to be a peer or a classmate. Let alone his ex-wife’s editor. His ex-wife’s _friend_.

Eren watched Levi over his shoulder like an alley cat ready to hiss. Levi swung open the fridge and pulled out some egg nog, started making himself a spiked glass. Vanilla rum. Perfect. Just a little bit. It was only morning.

Eren waited for his dad to say something, chomping at the bit to challenge whatever it was. Levi waited for Eren to say something so his father would stop eyeing him with poorly concealed caution, parent protectiveness, so his father would stop waiting for either of them to say anything to fill him in—

“I’m staying with Levi,” Eren said with surprising patience. “You know, Mom’s friend.”

Grisha smiled in a way that looked like his face wanted to reject it. Still confused. Still suspicious. He gave Levi a quick once-over, and Levi couldn’t tell if it was judgmental or uncomfortable or just harmless curiosity. “That’s very—considerate. It’s really nice. I didn’t know you two knew each other that well.”  

Levi cleared his throat around a particularly strong swallow of vanilla rum egg nog.

“Anyway,” Grisha fumbled around in his coat pocket, desperate it seemed to divert from the awkward reunion, “I’ve been getting the mail since you haven’t been home…” 

“God damn it, Dad, I check the mail once a week and Armin’s grandpa knows to bring it in if it’s overflowing—”

“Here, I brought it with me…”

They left without any goodbyes to Levi, just the accidental slam of the door and their voices and footsteps dragging the awkward air along behind them. Levi’s face pinched. He put too much rum in his egg nog for this early in the day. Oh, well. Down the hatch because Carla’s ex-husband now knew his address.

* * *

 _1992_.

The house on 7th, by the freeway, was a lot nicer than the one on Aloha Street. It was bigger, first of all, and there weren’t any places under the carpet where it felt like the floor went soft. Levi liked it even though his bedroom had flowery yellow wallpaper, which his mom said they couldn’t change because they were renting.

Uncle Kenny said his mom’s boyfriends paid for it, but Levi knew that wasn’t true because his mom didn’t have boyfriends, plural. There was also Olek, the guy who lived in the upstairs bedroom, and he paid half the rent so Uncle Kenny was a liar. Plus, Levi knew Grandma and Papa paid the rent because he heard them all the time, saying, “Sweetheart, here’s the money. Kuchel, you have enough for groceries, right? Kuchel, does he need new shoes? He’s going to hit a growth spurt soon—”

Levi’s mom stuck half the money from Grandma and Papa in a Folger’s can she kept hidden under the sink. “Saving up,” she always said, with a wink and a smile. “Saving up for big things, baby!”

Levi looked, once. When it was late and there was nothing to eat and he wanted to order pizza. He thought maybe there would be a lot of money in the Folger’s can, but there wasn’t. He went upstairs and knocked on Olek’s door and Olek said, “Do you want pepperoni or just cheese?” and they watched _90210_ and ate pizza on the loveseat together because Levi’s mom had been passed out in the recliner since dinner should have been made and after a while Olek said, “Hey, squirt, don’t you have school in the morning?”

“ _What?_ ” Uncle Kenny roared when he heard, and Levi waved his cigarette smoke out of his face and fanned it away from the cat, too. “Your mother—your _fucking_ mother—”

His mom wasn’t all bad.

Even if she was, Levi loved her all the same. 

“I can’t believe you got him a _knife_ for his birthday,” his mom said, sounding somewhere confused between amused and frustrated.

“So?” Uncle Kenny scoffed. He leaned out from the kitchen and said, “Hey, Levi, I’ll teach you how to spin that thing and all the girls’ll drop their—”

His mom smacked at Uncle Kenny’s shoulder quite a few times, and not kindly, either. “Go home,” she snapped. “Go home, you are such an asshole. We’ll be at Mom and Dad’s in a few hours, can I please just have the afternoon with my son?”

Christmas Eve. His mom had an Elliot Smith CD on repeat and it was raining. The world looked fragile through it, all the parked Volvos and crooked, faded houses, the shivering trees. There were two blackbirds out there, fighting over a candy cane at the gutter. Blinking Christmas lights across the street. Levi watched from the living room window seat, feet pulled up, fiddling with the knife from Uncle Kenny while the cat purred against his socked ankles. His mom was finishing up the special cheesecake she always made for Christmas—the one with the cinnamon roll bottom. They’d eat it with Grandma and Papa and Uncle Kenny, between dinner and midnight mass.

“Baby, you want to help me draw the tree on it?” his mom called from the yellow kitchen.

“Yeah,” Levi called back. He liked drawing the Christmas tree on the cheesecake, with the sandwich baggie full of strawberry preserves and the hole cut in one corner like a pastry bag.

His mom stopped him in the kitchen doorway, stooped down and caught him by the chin so she squished his mouth almost into fish-lips. When he was tiny, he’d had giggle fits over that. He still let her do it even though he wasn’t tiny anymore. His mom was halfway ready for Grandma and Papa’s—made it to clean, high-waisted jeans and fixed makeup that didn’t really go with her slippers or lack of bra under that old thermal shirt she said was from Levi’s dad. She planted a kiss on his forehead and went back to the counter. She had that antsy thing going on, that smile frantic to seem happy, that wild-eyed sort of impatience. It would go away in a few hours, when they headed over to Grandma and Papa’s. She’d say, “Give me a second, little man,” and she’d pull her makeup bag out of her purse with the rattle of pill bottles inside and go into the bathroom and take about fifteen minutes to come back out—

His mom snipped the corner off the strawberry stuff and said, “Don’t listen to a single thing Kenny says. You don’t want girls who like boys who spin knives. And don’t ever, ever say ‘drop their panties’ like he does. Please, for the love of God.”

Levi’s nose wrinkled.

She brought over the strawberry bag, then chirped, “Mistletoe!” and grabbed him by the cheeks again to peck her own fish-lip kiss against his. Levi smiled, pulled away, wiped his mouth off.

“Mom,” he chastised, glancing up. Mistletoe in the kitchen door. Damn. His mom’s hand tickled into his hair and he loved the way it felt, the way it was warm, and loving, and reassuring, and conscious.

All the laughter was gone and she just smiled down at him, tiredly. “You’re my good little man,” she murmured. “And one day, you’re going to be someone else’s good man, too. I know it.”

* * *

_Present._

God, Levi did not want to go out.

He just wasn’t in the mood suddenly. He didn’t want to get trapped in holiday traffic, didn’t want to get Christmas jingles stuck in his head, didn’t want to drown in lights and decorations. Just wanted to stay at home and marathon a non-Christmas show, take a real break from work, remember hours later to return family birthday phone calls he’d ignored, get as close to college drunk with Hanji and Erwin as he could before the adult in him said, “Hey, let’s not.”

From: EREN

_meet me at Hunny’s, by Northgate_

It smelled like snow outside. Eren was waiting in the parking lot of the all-day breakfast diner open for holidays until midafternoon. Levi had heard of it. It was highly acclaimed by _The Stranger_. Eren, just leaning against his car looking almost like a kid ready to go tobogganing for as deep as he buried himself into his coat and scarf.

Levi swung his car door shut and shoved his keys deep in his coat pockets. He couldn’t really tell the difference between Eren’s breath and the last of his cigarette on the tingling December air even as he closed the distance, watched as the smoking filter disappeared under Eren’s shoe. That bad with the fam, huh? 

“Hi,” Eren chirped, heading for the restaurant doors before Levi even came to a stop. “Have you ever been here? It’s great. And Mikasa’s place is right up the road a little bit, so…”

They only had to wait a few minutes for a table, the place all homey in an eclectic, almost kitschy way—of course not without hanging panoramics of the city, of the Bay, a Seahawks jersey mounted and framed.

“So how was your dad’s?” Levi asked on a sigh, dipping his Earl Grey teabag in and out of a mug of hot water, kind of comforted by the way Eren slouched the same as him on his side of the table. Knee bouncing. Fiddling with his straw. Good to know he wasn’t the only one already fed up with the day.

“Well, we went to my aunt and uncle’s,” Eren lamented. “It was fine. The usual shit. Presents, stockings—my aunt kept trying to shove breakfast down my throat but I only had some Christmas cookies, because I didn’t want to not be hungry for this. Everyone’s all, ‘Why can’t you stay all day?’ And I was like, ‘Because I have a life?’”

Levi nodded idly, getting rid of the teabag and inspecting the little pitcher of cream before using it. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know,” Eren said, crossing his arms. Knee still bouncing. Practically pouting at his open menu. “I just—you know, I figured it would be nice to, um—do something together, too. Me and you.”

Levi cut his eyes up without lifting his head. _Me and you_.

“A lunch date,” he surmised doubtfully.

“No,” Eren stressed in an instant. But he didn’t sound like he knew what he wanted to say after. Quickly he jumped back to Christmas with his family, detailing the entire torturous experience with ceasefires only to order food and a coffee, watch Levi carefully as Levi ordered, then back to the stories.

The food was good. Eren was highly entertaining. Incredibly talkative for having just come from a seemingly terrible time. Didn’t really look Levi in the eye much, just talked, laughed at himself, smiled brightly when he got some laughs and sideline comments from Levi. Levi spaced out once or twice; he had a song stuck in his head. _Cotton Candy Skies_. Quick glance. Eren hadn’t noticed. He just went on—

“One check,” Eren said before the waitress fully stopped at their table.

Something coiled and snapped like a whip in Levi—quick, unexpected.

“You got it,” the waitress replied cheerily. Maybe the only one in the place who didn’t seem completely pissed off to be working at noon on Christmas. She scooped up their plates and was gone.

Levi stared at Eren. Eren stared back.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Levi muttered, scraping his cup of tea closer and checking to see how much he had left.

Eren snorted and dug his wallet out of his coat pocket. “You took me out to dinner a while ago, can’t I take you to lunch?”

Levi uttered a little derisive sound, more the husk of a scoff than anything else. “I didn’t _take_ you out to dinner, I _bought_ you dinner. Because you were moping around and it was driving me crazy.”

“Well, I’m not _taking_ you out to lunch, then, I’m _buying_ you lunch for your birthday, so shut the fuck up and take a free lunch, old man.”

_Birthday._

Levi issued a tense sigh, dragged both hands down his face. Pressed them to his mouth for a moment before dropping them, adjusting his shirt, sitting up straight only to lean on loosely crossed arms against the table. Eren scanned him, teasing grin clinging for life but to no avail as his brows knotted and the look in his eyes changed.

“What?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” Levi replied curtly.

Now Eren outright scowled. “Is this how it’s going to be?” he said. Glanced vigilantly at a passing family trying to maneuver their rambunctious kids in fat puffer coats and little winter hats between the tables, before flashing those burning hazel eyes over to Levi again. “You’re going to pretend not to care when I do something nice? I asked your ex—your friend Erwin what to do for you and he said to get you the fuck out of the house. So happy birthday and Merry Christmas, Scrooge—”

Eren didn’t know when to shut up sometimes. Like the other day, the mess of his papers, the argument. The belligerence left Levi feeling suddenly on edge. No, he was just on edge already and— _me and you_ and _one check_ and _take you out to lunch_ and fucking Erwin told Eren it was his birthday? They talked—? 

“You didn’t do this for me,” Levi snapped before he could catch the contentious words, the dirty look. “You just wanted to distract yourself from missing your mother.”

Oh—where the fuck had _that_ come from?

Eren recoiled gently with a flutter of lashes and instantly Levi hated himself for the jab. Fuck. Why did he do that? Shove all his own feelings off on other people, like it would really scrub them out of himself? He’d always done it. He tried so hard not to. It was kneejerk, it was automatic and unconscious and—really selfish of him. But it just _happened_ sometimes.

Eren’s brow knotted. He squinted at Levi, eyes lofty, distant. Guilty in a feisty way. Humiliated to have been read so well—shocked that he hadn’t even realized it himself. _Distract from missing your mother._ Arms crossed, tongue to the back of the teeth like he needed a place to carry the tension and it was his mouth, it was his fingers, tightening his knuckles into sharp angles, half-fists at the elbows of his stupid Christmas sweater. Knee bouncing a bit more aggressively. His voice was ragged as he managed to drag out in a very level way, “Well, you don’t have to be such a dick about it.”

Damn it. Levi slumped back in his chair and folded his arms, too. A bruised quiet rang thickly across the table, caged there by children in the place screaming, all the chattering, laughing, clinking. Background trill of _Carol of the Bells_ on the restaurant’s stereo. Just the two of them, mirrored gloom. Levi wished he could feel a bit more responsible, at least more remorseful, for the unwarranted and hostile bitterness. And it wasn’t that he couldn’t; it was just that as the day went on, he was feeling more and more detached from everything. Kind of numb. Disconnected even from himself.

The waitress swung back around with the check. Eren pushed his credit card her way without even looking up.

_Distract yourself…_

“I’m sorry,” Levi husked as soon as she was gone again. He meant it—he really did. And apparently Eren heard that. Levi chanced a look back his way; Eren didn’t seem to notice it for a moment, but then in a flutter of lashes, he looked up and held Levi’s glance steadily. Eyes bright with almost-tears. Betrayed. Mildly indignant. Personal turmoil. But he smiled a little, a weak perk of the mouth—not quite forgiving, but at least conceding.

“It’s okay,” he murmured.

And Eren meant it, too, Levi realized. He really did.

 

**end ch. x**


	11. The Pinch Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a complete 180 from morning sex. Fuck. // “Well, if we’ve got boyfriend jacket and blow jobs,” Jean said, “then I think we’re good for a totally informal, totally not ‘meet the folks,’ really quick dinner with my mom. // “Are you fucking with me on purpose?” Levi edged out below a smooth exhale of smoke, voice razor sharp and circumspect. “Or are you just an idiot?” // Levi’s profile picture. Looked like Leavenworth, that forever-Christmas town up by Wenatchee. // “Come play with us!” Hanji waved her hand urgently, grinning wide and amiable. // It was a self-conscious thing. A keen awareness of his own faults thing. A paranoia about misreading things thing, which would not be Eren’s blunder but…all his own. // 'He’s a good man.' Jesus fuck, he was stalking Levi on Facebook. What the fuck was he doing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **DOUBLE UPDATE bc i'll be at METROCON next friday!**  
> be forewarned **flashback erejean** , double update double song pairing – **wolf colony** | _dark and moody_ & **the xx** | _together_

* * *

What a complete 180 from morning sex. Fuck.

They parted ways in the parking lot of Hunny’s after a slightly awkward one-armed hug. Levi’s hand lingering on his side. Eren’s fingers cold as his knuckles ran down the back of Levi’s coat. Levi, repentant but distant in a way Eren couldn’t figure out. Trying to judge by the heavy feel of apology on both ends if it was his fault or something. It didn’t seem like it. It was just that whole looming, wordless thing, grief, that sharp numbness—something missing. Someone missing. He understood it. He got surly with it and Levi got—well, just Levi, a thunderstorm sometimes. Beautiful sky with only a quick flash of a warning before thunder cracked, rattled the world, faded away again.

Eren went to Friends-mas and had fun. Levi went home and probably relaxed. His friends Hanji and Erwin would more than likely still be there by the time Eren got back, and he’d just kind of leave them alone, do his own thing in his closet-office, go watch Netflix on his computer in bed, decompress after all the holiday overload. Family. Emotional lunch. Emotional nuclear friends get-together…

“What are you doing?” Hanji blurted as Eren took his hot chocolate from the microwave and started back to Levi’s spare room, all oversized hockey sweatshirt and pajama pants. He didn’t realize she yelled it his way at first—not until he felt everyone’s eyes, shuffled to an awkward stop at the place where kitchen linoleum met living room carpet and stared back.

Erwin, Hanji, Levi, circled around the ottoman in the center of the living room, dinner plates in the sink and drinks planted around their card game like bastions.

“Uh,” Eren said. 

“Come play with us!” Hanji waved her hand urgently, grinning wide and amiable. “Stop being so antisocial!”

Eren’s eyes swerved to Levi. He wasn’t looking anymore; he picked through his hand of cards, leaning back against the loveseat. But he must have sensed Eren’s glance, because he flicked his eyes up and over without lifting his head. Not quite welcoming, not quite forbidding. Just sort of granting permission.  

“Okay,” Eren said coyly, and trudged over to join them.

He was uncertain at first, like he’d been invited out of courtesy. Which maybe was the case, but nobody made it obvious. Hanji excitedly taught him how to play the game before they started a new round, and Erwin nursed his wine with casual little grins and they both swore Levi out because he played dirty without an ounce of remorse, just a faint little smirk. Inside jokes and their personal pattern of conversation flew over Eren’s head for a while. He felt very out of place in his pajamas, yanked over to the grownups’ table and mildly intimidated by Hanji’s witty vivacity, by Erwin’s on-point one liners and charming sarcasm, by a side of Levi he’d never seen before.

Relaxed, unguarded, utterly carefree.

Eren was kind of embarrassed by how much he liked to see that side. Sort of jealous it was reserved for Erwin and Hanji. Sort of relieved to know that Levi had somewhere to be that way—

What had Levi said about him to his friends, anyway? What did they know about him, about their whatever-it-was relationship? What did they _think_? That he was Levi’s boyfriend? Did they even know about Levi’s no romance thing? Was this going to make Levi uncomfortable? How the fuck should he act—like a roommate or a charity case or a friend, too, or the resident booty call or—?

By the end of his second glass of wine (which Hanji poured and shoved his way against all his objections) and the start of a third round of Dead Man’s Draw, Eren forgot to worry about those things. Completely.

“Eren, you have to stop being such a nice guy—you’ve got to be ruthless, like Levi!”

“Woah, hold on, Hanji, let him make the choice. You don’t want to regret your play, do you, Eren?”

“You guys, I have like, all the mermaid cards, can someone please steal one? I don’t need all the mermaid cards.”

“Fuck you, Levi, if I play harder, you’ll just obliterate us all on your turn.”

“Them’s fighting words!”

“You stole my key? Seriously?”

“Hell yeah, I stole your key. Opportunity arose. Oh, look, I have a chest, too. Let’s just double my cards…”

“Damn, Levi, you’ve taught him well.”

“I haven’t taught him shit, he came like this—”

“I’m going out for a cigarette,” Eren said, pushing himself up off the floor and wandering over to grab a jacket. Warm and tingly from the wine but it was still cold as balls out.

“What do you have?” Hanji asked, twisting around to beseech Eren as he crossed to the patio door.

“Camels.” Eren held up the pack.

“I’ll be out in a sec,” Hanji chirped.

“Hey,” Levi grunted, “the fuck are you doing in my coat?”

“Boyfriend jacket,” Eren teased as he tugged open the patio door with a gentle rattle of blinds.

“Yeah,” Levi scoffed, throwing back the last of his wine in the kind of swallow usually saved for beer. “I guess, if you were my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend jacket,” Hanji snorted, laughing into her drink.

“Could have fooled me, babe,” Eren teased, and Hanji almost spit her wine all over her cards and—

Levi’s eyes snapped to Eren. Sharp. Cold. Instantly Eren realized—shit. All the feeling washed out of his playful smile. Well, fucking ouch. He hadn’t meant it that way. It had just slipped out—a joke. Flirting. They flirted. Flirting was part of a no strings thing, too. But it had been wrong kind of flirting, apparently. Or Levi was just being super sensitive. All day, super sensitive.

Eren scowled, swinging the patio door shut hard behind him without a word, defensive adrenaline buzzing in his fingertips.

 _Flick._ Fast, angry drag. He huddled on one of the patio chairs, flicking ash off to the side and not caring if the Christmas wind blew it back and onto Levi’s things. Onto his coat. The doorknob squeaked. Levi came out and it squeaked again as he closed the door as quietly as he could—which did not really mean gently.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snapped.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Eren groaned, and slapped his pack of cigarettes into Levi’s open palm. Lighter next. Levi lit a cigarette and crossed his arms tight to keep warm in just his sweatshirt and jeans.

“Way to ruin the good time, Levi,” Eren grumbled.

“Are you fucking with me on purpose?” Levi edged out below a smooth exhale of smoke, voice razor sharp and circumspect. Like he suspected cruelty on Eren’s part, immaturity. “Or are you just an idiot?”

“What does _that_ mean?” Eren demanded, deeply offended.

“We talked about this, what, not even two weeks ago? We’re not dating. I’m not your boyfriend. There is no ‘boyfriend jacket,’ there are no lunch dates—”

“I _know_ I’m not your boyfriend.” Eren flopped back in the chair with a scrape of its feet on the concrete. “Oh my God, this is about lunch, too? Look, lunch was a thank-you for putting me up here, and ‘boyfriend jacket’ is a joke and you’re being all weird and rude about it. _Sorry_ I used the word ‘boyfriend.’ It was…”

Levi turned sharply, flashing a scathing look over him. Body drawn in lines of tension. Scowl deep and restless. “Yeah, I got it, a joke about a romantic gesture. Guy gives his girlfriend his jacket, girlfriend wears her boyfriend’s clothes, all that sappy, cutesy, cliché shit.”  

Eren choked on the words for a moment, collision of syllables and impatient breaths. “You are making this a _so much_ bigger deal than it is! You’ve had a problem with every single thing I do or say today—”   

“Sometimes I just need _space_ , Eren!” Levi cried, remonstration tangled with the last of Eren’s. Vicious scowl, jaw tight. Probably trying not to let his teeth chatter out of spite or stubbornness. Eren would have done the same thing.

_Need space._

Just like the other day. Here it was. He’d finally outworn his welcome, or something. But he couldn’t blame Levi for that. It was _his_ place. Eren was an extended guest, basically. Didn’t matter if they were sleeping together or not. His name wasn’t on the God damn lease and there was nothing obligating Levi to keep him. Or even like him, really.

“Here, you want your coat?” Eren hissed. “Why the fuck are you out here without a coat?”

“No. Keep it.”

“Okay, don’t have an issue with it and then tell me to wear it— _take_ it.”

Levi refused again with silence. Eren heaved a growl of a sigh and shrugged the coat back up his shoulders. Cigarette ash blew back and scattered against Levi’s leg. Fuck. “Sorry,” he spat in a voice almost too tiny to be mean.

Levi was still quiet. Eren was quiet, too. He didn’t want to go back inside now. He didn’t even want to imagine the way Levi’s friends would look at him. Finally, shifting his weight to the other foot, Levi said flatly, “Today’s just not a good day for me, okay?”

“Obviously,” Eren replied, throat chalky with the frustration. “So you want me when you want me, but when you don’t, I’m just in the way, huh?”

Levi spun to him fully, gestured with sharp, authoritative hands. Loomed against the city lights, dim enough to make him a silhouette except for the moonlight in his eyes.

“Today _always_ fucking sucks for me,” he seethed. Like Eren should have known that. Like Eren didn’t deserve to challenge that. Like today was not something he wanted to share with someone. “So yeah, maybe I’m in a bad mood so I’m making a big deal out of it but—I just _can’t_ with the ‘boyfriend jacket’ jokes today, the taking me out to lunch, now this ‘you don’t want me’ shit. It’s fucking irritating. It’s really annoying me now. We talked about this. I thought you understood. I told you not to do this—”

“Do _what_?” Eren fumed. “Fall in love with you? News flash, don’t worry, you’re a dick, I haven’t and I’m not going to—”

“Everyone has limits, Eren,” Levi iced out. “And I need some fucking space right now.”

 _I thought you understood_.

Something pinched deep in Eren’s chest. Bruised. Raw. But then his heart bottomed out in a fierce, reactionary way. Okay, yes, he felt a little guilty. But the rest of him was fired up. Fuck Levi for making him feel bad for not knowing how to navigate the landmine of his bad days and bad moods. Fuck Levi for turning this into something it mostly wasn’t. Fuck Levi for making him question everything and for knocking down the wall around the bad feelings he thought he’d secured today. Blew a hole right through him and just let them all out, charged his veins with every heartbeat. God, he was _mad_ —

_Need some space._

Eren dragged hard on the last of his cigarette, stubbed it out on the concrete and dropped it off the edge of the patio. He was fully aware of the spite and the venom in his words as he said, “For your information, I _do_ understand what we talked about, enough to know this isn’t about your allergy to love, it’s about you taking shit out on me when I didn’t do anything.”

Levi bristled. His eyes flashed like silver over Eren. And Eren knew exactly what he’d said wrong, once again. _Allergy to_ — But he was pissed off. His own furious glance clashed with Levi’s and he held his ground, just daring Levi to admit he was being an asshole.

“Can you just go to your friends’ tonight?” Levi said jaggedly, somehow not entirely cruel and not entirely sad.

Eren uttered half a cold laugh, shoving up and out of the chair. “Yeah,” he sulked, “but not because you asked, because I was going to anyway. So you can have your fucking space. With your friends. Happy birthday. Merry Christmas.”

Levi sighed again, like Eren just exasperated him so much. Put out his cigarette in the barely-used ash tray and stepped aside as Eren stomped past to the door. “Can you drive okay?” he asked in a worn-out way that really pissed Eren off even more because it was like he held the fault was one-sided. He was resigned. Over it.

“ _Yes_ ,” Eren seethed. And then he stormed inside to switch coats and put on real pants and get his overnight shit before he could change his mind, stop being angry and start being scared.

* * *

The front door swung shut behind Eren.

“Let me do the dishes,” Hanji said in a way that didn’t really allow for any debate.

Levi gathered up all the game cards from the top of the ottoman to stack and neatly shuffle, electric with anger. Quite aware of the way Erwin’s eyes hovered over him. But he didn’t give Erwin a chance to say anything—not a question, not a remark. Under the sound of the sink and clattering dishes, he said flatly, “I told him, by the way.”

Erwin’s brows arced high. “What?” he blurted. “Right now?”

“No.” Levi rolled his eyes. “Jesus, you think I’m that heartless?”

Erwin stretched his arms above his head, stretched his long legs out beside the ottoman then leaned back against the couch. Arms folded, feet crossed at the ankle. Slightly awkward pause, hesitance to address the night’s tense little interlude. “Well, does he not get it? Is that why you guys…?”

“No,” Levi said again, shortly. He met Erwin’s eyes as he split the card deck to shuffle again. “No, we’re both just in terrible moods today. Sorry things got awkward.”

Erwin waited, respectfully, for Hanji to make some more noise before he sought verification, murmuring, “But he does get it.”

Levi nodded and shrugged at the same time. “Yeah,” he murmured back. And as he said it, he wasn’t sure if it was true. He did not like that he was worried about it. But it was a self-conscious thing. A keen awareness of his own faults thing. A paranoia about misreading things thing, which would not be Eren’s blunder but…all his own.

No. Eren was just a very intensely emotional person. Levi knew that much after ten years. All the bickering today had nothing to do with their precarious involvement and everything to do with holidays being the worst time of year for…people like them. Especially with all that had happened with Carla still being so fresh, so painful. Especially with them still getting to know each other, learning the parts of each other that weren’t so easy. Weren’t so familiar. Maybe he’d overreacted a little. But he hadn’t lied; he needed space. He was in just the right mood today to be overwhelmed by the flippant line-blurring, by ambiguity. Too defenseless to withstand untangling it. He’d get over it tomorrow, probably.  

_News flash, you’re a dick._

Erwin pulled his wine over and just cradled the little glass in his lap, hands folded loosely around it. “How long is he staying with you, anyway?”

“I don’t know.” Levi shrugged again, limply. “Honestly, Erwin, I don’t even care.”

_You can have your fucking space._

Erwin smirked kindly at Levi around a sip of wine. “You are the chillest uptight wreck I have ever met. I don’t know how that’s possible, but it is.”

The shadow of a smile perked at Levi’s mouth. He was calming down. Thank God. Not any less frustrated, but far less frenetic. “Thanks. I try.”

“Hey, are you guys dating-dating?” Hanji asked from the island counter, drying her hands off on a dish towel.

Levi heaved a sigh, throwing down the deck of cards and leaning back against the loveseat in much the same lazy fashion as Erwin. “No. You guys, everything is fine. We’ve just been driving each other crazy today.”

That was what it was. That was what it was. It was.

“Well, that’s not hard with you,” Hanji parried, then disappeared into the bathroom.

Levi really wanted to text Eren, tell him to let him know when he got home. He wasn’t sure if he would. He could feel Erwin thinking, remembering. Levi was, too, anyway. Not really vividly—just the feeling. Their own fights, back then. Their occasional fights now.

“Thank you,” Levi said, finally.

“For what?” Erwin grunted.

Levi shrugged one last time. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. But he didn’t have to explain; he could tell by the way Erwin glanced at him that he knew. He hated how Erwin always knew, always. Hated it because he needed it so much—someone to know what he thought and what he felt without him having to articulate it. Especially when he didn’t know how to articulate it and just felt helpless.

Thank you for being there. Thank you for getting it. Thank you for wanting to see him happy.

“Sure, any time,” Erwin said, voice light and teasing. But there was nothing insincere about the promise at all.

* * *

_Seven years ago._

“I told him I want to take a break. That I need some space and I want him to take some time away from me. I don’t want to use him up.”

“What did he say?”

“I mean, he got it. I could tell he knew exactly what I was saying. That he felt guilty for agreeing. I hate it when grown men look so fragile. I fucking hate it. But, I mean, it’s not like we fought. We made the decision together. Take a small break even from friendship. Clear the air.”

The rain made music on the roof, the windows. Eren could still smell their tea—chai, spicy and sweet. His mom’s typewriter sat on the coffee table, paper and pens scattered beside it. He had no idea why she liked working on that thing sometimes. He’d tried once. It drove him nuts.

“Bye, sweetheart.”

“Take it easy, Carla. Merry Christmas. Thank you, again, for the gift.”

“You, too! Merry Christmas!”

His mom closed the front door. Eren frowned at her from the couch, turned around to prop himself up on the back. The throw blanket slipped off to the floor. “Well, that wasn’t about work.”

She shrugged, picking up the blanket and folding it loosely. “No, just—life stuff. Relationships. Dating. You heard him. I know you were eavesdropping.”

“Hmm.” Eren squinted after her as she moved back into the kitchen.

“What’s that look for?” she asked.

“I just don’t get it,” he said. “What do you two even have in common that you’re such good friends? He’s just your editor. I mean, he’s not even your actual editor anymore. Right?”

His mom frowned back—even narrowed her eyes, too, though it was hardly angry and just a bit offended. “Why are you being grumpy? He bought you a Christmas present.”

“Yeah, a generic present. It’s a coffee mug and a Visa gift card.”

His mom rolled her eyes and strode off to her bedroom. Eren followed, like a puppy. Persistent and restless. But he didn’t even get to ask any more questions because his mom stopped in her doorway and turned, raised her brows at him like she did when she really meant it and he was really in for it. But she just said in a way that felt so distant from him, “Levi’s a good man, Eren. He’s had it really hard. Maybe that’s what we have in common, I don’t know. We’ve had it hard, but we keep trying. He’s a good man and a good friend, even if we don’t see each other every day. Someone I feel lucky to know.”

_Good man._

Eren swallowed hard. He didn’t know why that made his heart skip. Quick and unexpected.

“Maybe if you ever actually tried to get to know him instead of just sulking around when we see him,” his mom added in affectionate censure, flipping on her bathroom light and raising her brows at him, “you’d see what I mean.”

* * *

_Three months ago._

“Seriously?” Eren sputtered. “It’s our three-month and you’re inviting me to dinner with your parents?”

Jean turned around with his apartment key already out and ready like a knife fight, brow knotted unevenly—almost cocked, bemused. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Eren gestured, denim jacket rustling with the movement. “Your mom. Coming over. For dinner. You asked me if I wanted to have dinner at your place tonight. I thought you meant, like—for our three-month.”

Jean squinted at him, lips parted, gently puckered like around the beginning of words that took a long moment of confusion to finally emerge. Slowly, stressing here and there like Eren needed guidance through the thought process: “Yeah, I asked if you wanted to eat here because you’re staying over tonight anyway. I forgot my mom was coming but I figured you wouldn’t mind, since you’re _staying over anyway_. I’m sorry?”

He opened the door with a creak of the hinges and Eren followed him inside the little student apartment, faded carpet and that vaguely moldy, vaguely kitcheny smell of old buildings. He kicked off his shoes near the welcome mat and wriggled out of his jacket. “Yeah, but—it’s our three-month, Jean. That’s way too early to meet your fucking parents. Also, _dinner with your mom_ for our _three-month_?” 

“Three-month fucking _what_?” Jean cried in exasperation, tossing his keys on the Formica counter and looking at Eren like he was about to rip his hair out. “Oh—anniversary?”

Eren shot him a funny look as he dropped the jacket on the arm of the couch. “Uh, yeah.”

Jean relaxed, clearly relieved to have finally made sense of the whole thing—relaxed enough to go back to playful smirks and waggling eyebrows, that secretly dorky cool guy thing that he wore so well and never failed to pull as ammo against Eren’s occasional meltdowns. “Three months since we first hooked up, or three months since our first date?”

“First date, Jean.”

“Look, babe,” Jean sighed, swinging open the fridge, “I’m sorry, okay? I completely forgot my mom was coming over. She just—does this sometimes, she likes to come over and cook dinner when she feels all useless and shit, empty nest syndrome and all that.”

“I’ll go over to Armin’s or something until she’s gone,” Eren suggested.

“Why?” Jean demanded as he cracked open a Rock Star, seeming rather insulted.

“Because!” Eren cried. “First of all, I mean, for our two-month you organized the whole get drunk and make out under the stars at Artist’s Point thing, but you apparently didn’t have anything planned for today—second of all, it’s way too fucking early to meet your _mom_. You’re jumping the gun. We’re not even exclusive yet. In order of seriousness—we don’t have more than three date nights a week, you don’t have a drawer at my place, I don’t have a key to the apartment yet, I use yours, you’ve only met my mom on accident, and even that was weird. Three months, Jean. We’ve been dating three months. There’s a timeline to this shit, man.”

Jean swallowed a long gulp of his energy drink with a gentle hiss. Licked his lips. Squinted at Eren in that way like Eren was going off in tongues.

“You did that with phone calls, too,” Eren added. “Why do you think I didn’t pick up the first time you called? After we hooked up?”

“Uh, because you’re a moron who’s always really distracted and busy?”

“No,” Eren insisted, “it’s because that’s how romance works. If you weren’t interested, you wouldn’t have called again.”

“Dude,” Jean mumbled, “we work in the same fucking office, I wouldn’t have had to call to talk to you.”

“And now we’re having dinner with your mom on our three-month?” Eren sputtered. “That’s—like, are we going to make this not casual anymore, or what? Because that’s what that says.”

 _Not casual_.

Jean thought about this, frowning at Eren. Tapping a finger against the side of his drink. Trying to figure it all out. Avoiding the question.

“What about my jacket?” he murmured finally, pointing to the denim jacket on the couch with one finger against his Rock Star, the other hand propped idly on his hip. “Where does boyfriend jacket fit in the timeline?”

Eren glanced at the denim jacket. He shrugged, perched on the arm of the couch with one foot outstretched and the other knee bouncing impatiently. “I don’t know,” he muttered darkly, “like, me wearing it all the time? I mean, that’s pretty basic, so like, one-month, but it…”

“What about oral?”

“What, blow jobs?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Now_ ,” Eren snapped before he couldn’t talk through how flustered and red-faced he was. They’d only just braved that, anyway. Blow jobs were fucking intimate. Blow jobs were, out of everything, the only thing tied to that dumb 30-60-90 rule, in Eren’s opinion. “Blow jobs, three months.” 

“Well, if we’ve got boyfriend jacket and blow jobs,” Jean said, “then I think we’re good for a totally informal, totally _not_ ‘meet the folks,’ really quick dinner with my mom. If you don’t think so, I’ll let you know when she’s gone. And I’ll make it up to you later tonight. I promise. Since it’s our three-month and all. _Promise_.”

Eren blushed. God, that gentle nonchalance really got him, that subtle suggestiveness, fearless flirting. It was so flippant and sensitive at the same time, just made him want to ask politely, _Back me into a wall and let me put my tongue down your throat, please?_

Okay. He could forgive the fuck-up. And they could get back to the drawer at his house and a spare key to Jean’s place and maybe talking about moving from casual to serious at a later time. Because Eren just couldn’t resist those dimpled smirks, the nipping kisses at the shell of his ear, the romantic whisper against the back of his neck of, “Hey, I like the way you look in the boyfriend jacket, you know…”

* * *

_Present._

From: DAD

_Merry Xmas and ho-ho-ho good-night!_

From: LEVI

_At least text when you get there_

“You’re back?” Mikasa said when she opened her door, first peeking out and then swinging it all the way open, her very unique look of concern—sharp, intent—knotting up her face. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you text me?”

“Because,” Eren grumbled. “I don’t know. I tried to go home first, but it didn’t work.”

 _Stay as long as you need to_.

“I thought you were staying with your mom’s friend? Are you not staying with him anymore?”

_Need space._

“He has guests over,” he grumbled.

“Hi, Eren,” one of Mikasa’s roommates chirped, waving from the kitchenette.

“Hey, Hannah,” Eren muttered.

He missed hanging out like this. Why wasn’t he hanging out like this lately? Just late-night trash TV and laughing together, side quests to the kitchen for midnight snacks that were an hour or two early but still counted as midnight snacks. Eventually Hannah went to her room and it was just him and Mikasa, sprawled in the dancing light of the TV, swaddled in blankets. Eren curled up against one arm of the couch, Mikasa propped on the other, legs tangled idly in the center. She didn’t even complain about Eren’s foot-wagging.

“I just miss her,” Eren whispered eventually. But he had to admit it. Had to stop pretending it wasn’t there. Had to accept it as a reality.

_You just want to distract yourself…_

It was true, and maybe that was why he’d resented Levi so much for saying it. He hadn’t really thought about it past that—just that his mom was missing and he missed her and everything felt very off-kilter and fake. But now it was all starting to bloom in his mind, each individual little thing in a garden of grief.

He missed the house looking like Christmas, his mom’s stupid twelve days countdown. Gift shopping together. She’d been wanting to go see _The_ _Nutcracker_ ballet for a while and they could have gone. She wouldn’t have cared if he’d gone to Friends-mas and he wouldn’t have had a problem going back to spend the rest of the day with family if she’d been there, too. In fact, she probably would have said, “Have Friends-mas at our place!” She probably would have stopped by to see Levi, wish him a happy birthday, a Merry Christmas, and Eren would have tagged along awkwardly, texting his friends or scrolling Facebook or something just to avoid having to interact with the guy, this keystone in his mom’s life he didn’t really understand and despised for the past torture of self-exploration fixation like he was even somehow to blame.  

Eren sighed, blinking as fast as he could to clear the tears doubling, trebling his vision. It didn’t work all that well.

“I know,” Mikasa whispered, looking very bruised with emotion, too. “I miss her, too.”

They readjusted their blanket nest until he laid half on Mikasa’s lap, her fingers in his hair. Shared quiet. Tiny chuckles through night owl Adult Swim blocks.

“I’m sorry,” Eren mumbled during a commercial break. Rolled around a little to look up at her from her legs. “For being so distant lately.”

Mikasa’s fingers, moving so slow and sweet until—until they fell still, and Eren peeked up and found her asleep, curled into the back of the couch with her pillow between her and the wall. The late-night programs began their reruns. Eren reached around to his phone. He was tired but his eyes didn’t want to stay closed. Reddit. Facebook. Game apps.

His mom would have known what to say if he said, “Mom, we’re fighting and I don’t know why—” Except wait, he wouldn’t be fighting with Levi if she were there, because he wouldn’t be at Levi’s. He wouldn’t be talking to Levi. He wouldn’t be sleeping with him. Getting to know him.

Eren hesitated.

He closed out of the phone game and went back to Facebook, heart fluttering sickly. Nervously. Angrily. Sneakily.

He searched Levi’s name.

There it was— _Levi Ackerman_. Seattle, Washington. Senior editor at Hawthorne Lit. Attended UW Seattle. _View profile_.

As expected, there wasn’t much activity. Barely anything in the last few years. Facebook was practically dead. But it linked to Levi’s Twitter, which was just full of typical agent and lit industry networking, promotion, chat. Eren thumbed through his Facebook photos. Profile. Uploads. Wall. Albums. Tagged.  

Tagged with friends, with coworkers, at work events—look, a candid in his office, sun spilling in from the window as he smirked at this Petra Raal who took the photo, a look in his eyes as if to say, _Are you done now?_ Chin propped in hand, book-lined shelves, messy desk, set of glasses. _Congrats to Shadis and this cranky-butt for a five-figure two-book deal! – with Levi Ackerman and 1 other_.

God, Eren was livid with him right now. Treating him to lunch and joking about boyfriend jacket were so not romantic. Okay, actually, they kind of could be, when he thought about it, but not _inherently_. He could see how Levi had taken them that way but he hadn’t _meant_ them that way and Levi didn’t have to take his shit-ass mood out on him.

Okay, he’d taken his shit-ass mood out on Levi, too. But he still had a right to be pissed. 

Eren moved slowly back through time with every gentle swipe of the thumb. Levi, younger. Familiar. Magnetizing. Erwin, Hanji, coworkers. Others Eren didn’t know—his mom— _him_ , on the sidelines, at a writers’ conference, with his mom and with Levi, some crowded panel room.

Levi’s profile picture now. Two years ago, the date said. Looked like Leavenworth, that forever-Christmas town up by Wenatchee. Levi and Hanji, photo uploaded by Erwin Smith, who’d snapped it before they were ready. Hanji just short of ridiculous in mid-sentence, ear muffs down around her neck, gesturing off somewhere enthusiastically. Levi in a very nice coat, tartan scarf, to-go coffee in a red-gloved hand. Brows raised. Dark hair tousled dreamily around his ears and his eyes. That piercing blue-gray stare, wide and clear and burning bright with the kind of carefree, honest smile that proved there _was_ someone hopeful and happy and pleasant behind that dark and moody mystery, and if the smile was on his mouth, too, the coffee covered it. Behind the two of them, one of those burn barrels the vacation village had in their cobbled streets. The mountains and the trees looming beyond stacked Bavarian-style buildings, so pure, so pretty, so close, they almost looked fake.

 _He’s a good man_.

Jesus fuck, he was stalking Levi on Facebook. What the fuck was he doing?

Eren laid there, staring at the Leavenworth profile picture.

Okay. So his mom had been right. Levi was a good man. Eren got it, what she meant when she said she felt lucky to know him. That he should get to know him. In the photos was the Levi that he remembered and it was so odd, how he felt so different to him now. Different even than the Levi the night of the funeral. Levi at the U-Village Starbucks. Levi with the spare key. All that was like—his mom’s Levi.

But Levi was _real_ to him now, in a way.

And Eren felt really fucking attached to him.

Damn it.

He wasn’t any less furious. But he cleared all his apps and pulled up his text messages, and finally hit the reply button.

To: LEVI

_i’m here and i’m okay_

He pulled up the web browser and Googled _aromantic_.

 

 

**end ch. xi**


	12. Leaving These Jeans a Mess on the Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were both a very particular breed of stubborn. // "Do I want something like that?" // "You have plans?" Levi called, rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt. // Good man. // Eren couldn’t seem to keep up with kissing Levi at the same time that Levi undressed him, never mind his mutual struggle to get Levi out of his button-down— // "Where do we go from here?" // Eren decided his best bet as surprise guest at Erwin Smith’s party was to just hang out with Optimus Prime the Husky. // Selfish to expect anyone to forego those feelings…to not really want to stop them, so long as he did not have to give them back the same way. // "I just want to be—good for you, too." // It went against everything he stood for. But Eren wanted to let himself have it.

The funny thing was that they were both a very particular breed of stubborn.

“Hi,” Eren said as he breezed in midmorning the day after Christmas, lugging the little bit of stuff he’d taken the night before into the spare room and just dropping it on the bed.

Levi grunted something sort of half-asleep and agreeable in reply where he leaned against the kitchen counter, blowing gently on a fresh cup of tea.

“I’ll see you later,” Eren said after he took a shower and gathered up coat and computer bag. The front door swung shut behind him and Levi heaved a sigh into the steam of his drink.

He was pretty confident he knew exactly what Eren was doing.

Eren was so predictable in the most precious way. He wanted to make a point. Defiant, vindictive. Levi could practically hear him: _You want space? I’ll give you space_. And it was really kind of amusing to him to count the days until Eren gave up trying to get him to cave and just caved himself. Maybe that was some of Levi’s own stubborn streak, too, but never mind that.

And definitely never mind what it meant that he was putting up with it.

Eren stayed out most of the day after Christmas, returned to eat dinner then closed himself into the spare room. Still asleep when Levi went back to work, out when Levi got home, came back to sleep. The next day, he apparently cleaned the house while Levi was gone, and God knew where he went but he was back again just to sleep. This time, throwing down a smallish fold of money, rubber-banded, with the note: _Rent_. Levi left it on the counter. Didn’t touch it. Which, he noticed, drove Eren up a wall.

By New Year’s Eve, Eren was getting impatient with the standoff. Levi could tell. He was wearing himself down on his own. Didn’t look vengeful anymore, just weary and frustrated by his strategy’s fruitlessness. Ready to give up. Hungry for attention, for acknowledgement, for validation—

All right, that was enough.

“You have plans?” Levi called, rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt as he strode through the kitchen to the wine rack, searching for the right one for tonight.

The guest bed squeaked as Eren leaned to look through the open doorway, suspicious. “For what?”

Levi skirted the corner and grabbed Eren’s coat, moved briskly to the spare room and chucked it at his face. It missed by a nice margin, flopped awkwardly against his shoulder as he grunted and recoiled. Gave Levi a helpless, puzzled look, like he had no idea how to interpret this interaction in the midst of their, admittedly sort of one-sided, feud.

“Hurry up,” Levi said. “Erwin’s doing a New Year’s Eve thing. If you’d rather count down with your friends, cool, either you can jet out early or I can ask if they’re welcome to join.”

Eren gawked at him, utterly thrown for a loop. Flustered. Clearly torn between keeping up the cold shoulder and accepting it was all for nothing.

Finally he just ripped his eyes away and shut his laptop. Without a word, he swung off the bed and went to the dresser for nice clothes. Precious, miserable little wreck.

* * *

Erwin had a dog, a Husky mix that was just so excited at all the company and pretty much knocked Eren back into a wall when he and Levi came in from the blustery night, all wagging tail and frantic, happy huffs. Levi ruffled at the dog’s head, but didn’t save Eren from the jumping or the tongue-lolling. That was Erwin’s job, hurrying out from the open kitchen and laughing like everyone else laughed as he lovingly pulled the dog from Eren’s knees by the collar.

“Shh, Optimus, I know, new person, I know…”

“I named him!” Hanji cried proudly from the living room. “Great name, right?”

“I wouldn’t have endorsed it if it wasn’t,” Levi said, bumping fists with her as he passed by.

Erwin smiled a little at Eren as if to say, _Lucky me and lucky you, putting up with them._ Eren smiled awkwardly back. Comradery with Levi’s ex-boyfriend and the man whose nice car he fucked up a little was not exactly on the list of easy objectives, especially not after what happened Christmas. Yup, lucky him.

Eren decided his best bet as surprise guest at Erwin Smith’s party was to just hang out with Optimus Prime the Husky.

He wasn’t a total social failure, anyway. He’d made sure to look good so he impressed Levi’s friends. Levi. Himself, too. He could still function as a normal human being, see? Nicest pull-over sweater, the knit one, patterned for the season, white T-shirt peeking out at the collar, at the hips. Best-fitting pair of jeans. Never mind they were the same jeans he wore that night after the funeral. Okay, yes, mind, because Eren kind of wanted Levi to notice that.

He was friendly. He joined conversation. Petra, Nile, Mike with Hanji, Gunther, some other guy whose name Eren kept forgetting. They asked and he explained he’d known Levi for years because Levi had been his mom’s friend and editor, and then everyone wanted to know about her books and his career and Eren took note of how Levi listened carefully, mixing drinks with Erwin in the stainless steel and Cherrywood kitchen.

The ball had already dropped in Times Square, three hours ahead. The repeat showing of the public celebration was good ambient fuzz, until Optimus Prime whined along with this or that musician’s set so they muted it for a while. And it was weird, how relaxing it all was. Eren couldn’t figure out if it was because he just sort of ghosted around the place, or because it was all a great distraction from—well, everything—or if it was because the very fact that Levi had invited him made the entirety of the last week null and void. 

That. It was that.

He was not in the way. Levi did not resent him. He was good enough for Levi to invite him to his friends’. Levi, reclined handsomely on Erwin’s couch, one arm thrown over the back, one leg crossed on the other. Levi, struggling with Hanji to get a bottle of bubbly open, laughter, shouts, they had to use a knife and a pair of pliers because the cork just would not surrender. Levi, bringing Eren a drink now and then, urging him to get a fucking plate of God damn food. Levi, almost all silhouette out on the back patio of Erwin’s second-story townhouse, little fireflies of cigarette cherries as he smoked with that Mike guy Hanji was dating. Levi wasn’t ashamed of him. He hadn’t ruined everything with—the jokes he’d made the other night, careless, selfish. He was part of Levi’s life—he just wanted to be good enough to be in Levi’s life—wanted Levi to want him again, pay attention to him, _need_ him—which was kind of messed up, how badly he wanted to objectify himself like that—why was this so important to him suddenly, why was it crawling under his skin, hijacking his head—wasn’t even like they were dating, they were just fucking—

 _Fuck_ , man. 

Eren hugged his coat closed with crossed arms and sidestepped Mike on his way in. When he elbowed the door shut, it choked off the gentle clatter of the good time, muffled the music from the television. Fall Out Boy’s Times Square set, still there, just a little faraway, like it was underwater. Like the noise from the apartment below Erwin’s, cheers from the place across the alley that was so many Seattle houses’ backyards.

Levi looked Eren’s way through a drag on his cigarette, tip glowing hot. Leaning against the daintily wrought black iron railing. It had rained all day, but it wasn’t now—just the kind of sharp, clinging cold that bit into the bones.

_He’s a good man._

“So I didn’t make you uncomfortable,” Eren surmised, something like a guess and a confirmation at once. He cleared his throat after he heard how pathetically anxious the words came out. Refolded his arms to close his coat tighter, propped himself against the railing on one elbow. Couldn’t decide if he wanted to keep Levi’s eyes or not.

Levi studied him for a moment, coolly, lashes lowered, face serene. He finished his cigarette in one last slow drag and flicked the butt off the balcony before turning, slipping his hands into his pockets and leaning back again as he said around the gentle sigh of smoke, “What, Christmas? Well, yeah, it really irked me. You remember, it was a bad day. And—I told you—I just need space sometimes. I got over it, if you couldn’t tell. I’m not the one who’s been throwing a fit.”

Levi smiled faintly, a shadow of that teasing sort of smirk Eren really liked. It was so relieving. Eren heaved a sigh, felt like he veritably deflated with it. And it was nice to just feel everything slip away. _Throwing a fit_. Yeah, he’d been doing that thing again, hadn’t he—that thing where he was angry at someone who meant something to him, like it was somehow their fault he cared. 

Eren cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Me, too,” Levi said.

“Don’t be.” Eren shrugged.

 _I thought you understood_.

He did, though. He knew where they stood. Their weird, sort of cathartic, uncomplicated thing. Just sex. Just casual affection. Just knowing each other. Some weird shade of friends with benefits where a twenty-four-year-old temporarily moved in with his mother’s thirty-four-year-old friend and former business partner and they had sex sometimes on a very clearly defined basis of no future romance, no expectations, no obsessively tracking what Levi felt about him while they got to know each other as individuals whose only real connective tissue was a dead mother, an alma mater, and a literary profession.

_Mom, I can’t get him off my mind._

The funeral. The sex. The spare room, the apartment key. Food in the fridge with that little note. The office. Dinner in Fremont. _No strings._ That lonely night on the couch. _Overdose_. The other night on the couch. _Grey-romantic_ and _Give them to me. Can I read them?_ The way Levi smiled at him from the bathroom before he kicked the door closed. The way he sharpened when Eren frustrated him, eyes flashed like silver. The way he jutted his jaw when he worked, tongue to the back of his teeth. The dry humor, the smarts, the way he laughed, the way he…

“Do you want a kiss?” Levi husked, glow of lights from inside leaving him half-lit and softened. Eren blinked a few times to refocus. Shit, was he wearing his thoughts on his sleeve?

He laughed meekly, shook his head, rolled his eyes to look up at the foggy winter night sky like it would give him any explanation for how he could be so susceptible to the clinical, uncertain way Levi asked. Kind of awkward, kind of cute. He could settle for that, if that was how it was going to be. He could get used to that.

“Sure,” Eren whispered. Levi inclined his chin, quick, gentle. _Come here_. Eren thought maybe he should be embarrassed by how quickly he melted into a smile at that. Relieved. Flustered. Gratified. He followed the railing, wiggling between it and Levi much to Levi’s feigned inconvenience. Shifting around until he had his hands planted to either side of Eren and Eren just huddled there in his coat in Levi’s shadow, peeking up without lifting his head.

Levi pecked him on the forehead, impartial. Eren scoffed and reared back. That was it?

Levi smirked—not the ghost of it now, the real thing.

“Fucker,” Eren grumbled, and the end of it was cut off by Levi’s mouth sealing with his. Slowly. Calmly. Confidently. A little sigh slipped from Eren’s lips. God, it was not safe, the way he just fell apart like this for this man. It was nothing like when he was younger. The obsession. It was nothing like the butterflies and sap with Jean. Was this what Levi felt, instead of romance? Just this deep _draw_. God damn, was it simple. How did it—why—?

Eren pulled away and fixed Levi’s eyes, lifting his chin resolutely. Levi peered back. Quick dart of the tongue as if to catch the last taste, biting his lip in with it, mouth pressed tight in a thoughtful line.

“I don’t care,” Eren whispered, fingers aching from the cold as they tightened on his arms. He tried to wiggle them deeper into the coat sleeves, heart jumping so hard it made him feel like his throat was closing up. Stomach, aflutter. “I don’t care if you don’t like me like that.”

Levi bristled a little, looked a bit disdainful of the rather playground way in which Eren put it. He popped his mouth back open for an immediate rebuttal. “Eren—”

Never super romantic things that made him melt inside. Never planned-out dates or anniversaries or—cutesy little pet names or gifts—never doing any of the things that said to the world they were a couple, and…

“Listen,” Eren insisted. God, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. “It’s like—do I want something like that? No dates, no cuddling, no romantic dinners, no sugary surprises, slow dancing, sweep-you-off-your-feet, ‘Kiss the Chef’ Saturday mornings, Facebook status change, _nothing_ , nothing that will ever be—no ‘I love you?’”

Levi opened his mouth for another interjection, a shadow like cornered guilt and defensiveness eclipsing him fast. But Eren didn’t waste a second.

“Hell yeah,” he answered himself, breathlessly. It was hard to talk with as stirred up as he was inside. Wanted to say everything right. Really say it. Get the words out, prove they were real. “Fuck all that. I am so not in the mood for that kind of maintenance, all that effort. But you’re a good guy, Levi. You really don’t have to be, but you’ve been so good to me and make me feel so good and I just want to be—good for you, too. I don’t care if we’ll never have a _romantic_ relationship. Because we have _something_. And I’m fine with it. I’m fine with—whatever this is. In fact, I think I need it right now. I’m ready for it, I mean. I want it. I want you…”

The last word crumbled off his tongue into a nervous breath for the way Levi was looking at him. So close to him. Hands, firm on the railing. Eyes intent. Burning. Still sort of cautious. Curious. Felt like one of those ringing pauses in the movies, carefully crafted Lover's Journey, right before the tension snapped and the hero or the heroine dropped that line, that one line. But he wasn’t quite sure what that made it in Levi, because if it wasn’t romantic—well, there was no way it was just a physical thing. The way he studied him, stunned and full of desire. Was that what it was like, then—sexual attraction coupled with just _knowing_ someone? Not romantic—but deeply personal? That _draw_ …

Eren’s mouth hung open for a moment, but he didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know how to say whatever he wanted to say. Yet Levi seemed to hear it, anyway. A small, defenseless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“So what are we supposed to do, then? Where do we go from here?” Levi husked in the rawest, most unguarded way. Like Eren was the one in charge of this. Like it was Eren’s decision.

Like he really wanted to know what Eren wanted.

_Good man._

“Well,” Eren said authoritatively, tightening his crossed arms and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I was going to ask if you’d drop me off at Armin’s at eleven, but… When we get back to your place, let’s fuck. Like, really _fuck_.”

Levi tried to scoff, but apparently the real laughter won. Head back, shoulders jumping. Eren cracked a sheepish grin, confused for a moment—what was funny? He didn’t care. He liked when Levi laughed.

Levi pushed away from him, running one hand through his hair absentmindedly. “Cute,” he sighed. “Very cute.”

“Cute?” Eren echoed. “I was being sexy.”

“No.” Levi shook his head, casting Eren an unaffected glance over the shoulder—not sultry, not scrutinizing, not even playful. Just a candid look. “You were pretty adorable.”

* * *

_Just want to be good for you._

Scratch of a thumbnail on denim. The heat of Eren’s body beneath, that soft skin, just so fucking _grabbable_ at his hips there, where the waistband of his boxer briefs pressed at the flesh.

_What are we supposed to do?_

Eren couldn’t seem to keep up with kissing Levi at the same time that Levi undressed him, never mind his mutual struggle to get Levi out of his button-down shirt. He was too distracted. Levi chuckled against his mouth, bit playfully at that pouty lower lip. Eren gasped, actually startled—flashed Levi a sheepish but daring look, stifled a dirty smirk. 

_Do I want something like that?_

Levi’s bedroom patio would have been a perfect place to watch the fireworks, but they were long done and over with now. It was just the usual city lights spilling in through the glass as they took it to the bed, tangled loosely together. Mouths working. Lingering tang of liquor. Shivers. Hands moving slow but determined over bodies that could be navigated blind by now. Eren’s teeth grazed the shell of Levi’s ear, taunting—Levi gently smacked the place where thigh became ass to remind him he’d said: _Hands and knees, go_ —

 _I want it. I want you_.

But Eren didn’t last long on his hands and knees and begged to get on top so he could ride him—God, the way his eyes flashed back moonlight and he snickered like this were some giddy juvenile rebellion at the rip of a fresh condom when they switched positions and fuck, that devious, fearless sensuality made Levi so fucking hard—ride him slow but deep, hard, facing him from his lap, pressed back against Levi’s tensed thighs, arms hooked on his bent knees, toes curling into skin as his hips rolled, one heel to the wall where Levi slumped sitting half up and kept their bodies close, impatient, biting kisses, gasping kisses, push of tongue…

 _Bodies talking to bodies_.

The hinges of the bathroom door squeaked a little when Eren came wobbling back out pulling up his shorts with an elastic _snap_. After-sex glow, mess of hair, eyes wide but still drunk on pleasure. Bumbling and warm.

Levi flopped around a little to make room for him in the bed, in the kicked-around comforter, the wrinkled sheets. He’d already gotten comfortable again after leaving Eren in the bathroom, after all elbows and short whispers in the dark, tossing the condom, damp towel, cleaning up.

Eren dropped down in the empty place, leaving an appropriate amount of space between them.  

The neighbors a floor above had wind chimes on their patio; the newly January wind played with them and the faint echo of it drifted down outside the glass. 

“So you tell me,” Eren said, after a moment, in a voice like a sigh, drained but content. “What you said back at the party, um—where do we go from here…?”

Levi shrugged, rubbing at his face a little to cover a yawn. He understood Eren’s obvious uncertainty, though he couldn’t claim entire familiarity with it. “I don’t know…”

“It’s because we know each other now, right?”

Levi slid his eyes over to Eren, lying with his face half buried in folded arms. Eyes sleepy, still heated. Feet flopping as he tried to kick some blanket up over his lower half. At Levi’s glance, he shrugged too, limply.

“I think we’re friends,” he considered aloud. “So…”

Levi smiled faintly up at the ceiling, raised his brows over closed eyes before he turned his face to Eren again. _Friends_. It sounded funny. But…

They certainly were not strangers now.

“It’s not just about sex anymore,” Levi concurred. “I mean—it wasn’t ever just about sex, but… You’re starting to mean something to me, you know. Or something like that. You get what I’m saying.”

He wasn’t sure how else to say it. But Eren did seem to get it; he could see it on his face, the flicker of an almost-smile, focus clearing the post-fuck fog. “So I’m not just Carla’s son, is what you’re saying,” he teased, raising his brows once, twice. Almost-smirk now.  

Levi raised his brows back, tongue running along the line of his teeth in a wry smile. “And I’m not just your mother’s friend.”

Eren buried a little lower into his arm, looking up at Levi in a miserable, penitent way just shy of puppy dog eyes. “Touché,” he said, and it wasn’t a joke anymore.

Levi chewed the inside of his lip against a hesitant smile, brow knotted, foot wagging back and forth against the tousled blankets. He swung an arm up under his head, fingers twisting idly but not exactly peacefully in his own hair. _Friend_. He did not want to say it didn’t feel like that—Eren would not understand what he meant. _Friend_. But it just didn’t seem right. Between the age difference, which in consideration felt like absurd reasoning but by principle seemed appropriate, and their unorthodox way of knowing each other, of reconnecting, of sort of re-meeting each other, of what happened when they were alone, it was just—it was something more ambiguous and undefinable than _friend_.

“I mean,” Eren said more like he was thinking out loud, “are we friends with benefits, then? There’s no romance there. You know?”

“No, that’s dumb.” Levi scrubbed at his face idly. “But you’re right, we need to redefine things. Where we go from here. We talked about it, it’s never going to be a romantic relationship, so I need to know what you want from this—”

“What do _you_ want?” Eren butted in sternly, eyes wide, grave, like he was afraid of his own audacity or maybe just fed up with Levi’s clinicality with it all. A nervous recital. Prepared question. He paused for a breath, waiting for Levi to kneejerk interrupt, but then he rushed on:

“Just because you don’t fall in love doesn’t mean what you want isn’t important. That’s actually _the_ important part here.”

_Not fair to you._

Levi threw him a glance—astonished, sort of unprepared. Eren’s eyes were fixed on him, but he didn’t quite seem to be looking at him. Just holding there, intense and intent. Slope of his shoulder. Stretch of his side. Levi was caught off guard by the responsibility in such a statement, the selflessness. Surprised by it, at least coming from Eren. He was usually so off the cuff and unthinking, emotionally driven most of the time.

 _Don’t get it, not worth your time_.

Slowly, Levi rolled over onto one arm, hand still restless in his own hair. Took a deep breath. Let it out through his nose, mouth in a firm line. No strings, they’d decided. Practically strangers and drunk on the physical. Maybe a little fucked up, sure, Eren’s bereft neediness and his own guilt for being so attracted to him. But he cared about him. Cared about him as Carla’s son, yes. Cared about him as himself, yes. A mentor, a—protector or something. It was complicated and yet it wasn’t.

“A non-romantic relationship,” Levi said before he overthought it.

 _What makes you you._  

He wasn’t _asking_ , per se. He was just answering the question.

But maybe he—okay—

He’d never expected to actually want that again. Want to try it, at least. That sort of thing. And certainly not in a situation like this. With a kid he’d only _truly_ known a few months. No. Not a kid. Young man. A young man so bent on the rules of love.

_No ‘I love you?’_

But… Maybe he’d sort of been missing it.

Eren was sure as fuck not ready for that. Levi didn’t want to put another complication in the kid’s life, put such responsibility on him. He couldn’t expect him to shoulder that, accept that. To want it.

_Don’t satisfy you!_

And Levi didn’t even really know if he was ready for that yet. He just wanted to keep Eren around. The sex, the—all right, friendship. Their own relationship after ten years. Whatever it was.

Eren craned up a little, eyes fiercely focused. “What does that mean? Tell me what that means.”

“Not a booty call.” Levi cleared his throat. God, he hoped he didn’t sound controlling or stern or something. “Not friends with benefits. More personal. Exactly what I said—no more no strings, but not a romantic connection. A non-romantic partnership.”

“Okay, but what does that _mean_?” Eren demanded. Levi smiled quickly, dryly, a little amused by the earnest impatience. He cleared his throat, shifting around grumpily until his arm didn’t feel ready to fall asleep anymore. Knuckles tapping absently against the wall now. Holy shit, why was his heart in his throat suddenly? This wasn’t a big deal. This was just laying it out, all the cards on the table. This was so much better than feeling around in the dark. Why was he so—antsy about what Eren would say?

“We have sex—” he said.

“Yup,” Eren confirmed, almost like he was self-conscious to hear it.

Levi rolled his eyes, tiny chuckle in the back of the throat. “We have sex,” he began again, “and we have a _personal_ relationship. Trust me, if I didn’t care about you in some way, you wouldn’t still be here.”

“Damn. Harsh.” Eren grinned meekly, tongue between the teeth. His eyes drifted for a moment, busy with thoughts. When they found Levi again, they sharpened. He was extraordinarily cool and composed somehow. Looked almost like he had in the Space Needle six years ago. Full of wonderment. Excitement. Purpose. “But how does it work in that, the aro thing—the grey-ro thing? Explain it to me again. I don’t want to—you know, cross a line on accident. Like before.”

_I don’t want to…_

“See, it’s funny,” Levi murmured below a slow breath. “Because when I hear people talk about the butterflies, the ache in the chest, all that sappy, infatuated stuff, it makes no sense to me. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that way. Like, taking over your life? Impeding the way you function as an individual? That’s crazy. Okay, maybe once. But it was complicated. I guess you probably feel the same way when I tell you all this, that it makes no sense, but that’s just what it is. Romantic affection and gestures—I don’t know what those things are supposed to mean and they just make me feel odd. Put on the spot. Why do people need them? I’m supposed to like it? What’s the point? I can’t figure out the reason for them, I can’t reciprocate the intent behind them, I don’t know how I’m supposed to react and it’s not second nature to me like it is for other people. I feel like I’m being rude. It’s like they don’t mean anything, or they mean something I can’t reach. It feels _fake_ —”

That. _That_ was what it was. In movies and in books he worked with, it didn’t feel that way. He liked a good romance in fiction, if it was done well. But when it was off the pages—off the screen—on top of him—it felt hollow. Not empty of intention, just…empty of meaning. Not real. 

Shit—Levi cut his eyes over again. Maybe that had been a lot all at once.

Eren took a long, deep breath through his nose, let it out again just as slow. Levi rubbed at his face with one hand, dropped both above his head to fold together loosely. Either Eren was going to say he got it, sure, let’s do it, or what the fuck, that’s too much for me, too little, never mind, we’re not going anywhere from here. He waited for it. Whichever it was. Waited. Jesus—

Levi scoffed. “You choose now of all times to be quiet as hell?”  

But the wheels were turning in Eren; Levi could see it in those burning hazel eyes. He was committed to this new plot twist. He shifted around a little. Heaved a decisive sigh.

“Yeah, I’m quiet, and you’re talking a lot for once.” His face lit with a coy smirk, maybe more an impetuous smile. Levi uttered a little sound of disdain, looking away self-consciously. He shut up. Sighed and closed his eyes and draped a hand across his temple. He felt so young and clumsy with it all of a sudden. Like he was trying to explain it for the first time, all over again.

“So what _does_ happen, then?” Eren asked. “Like, what’s allowed in a totally non-romantic way?”

Levi’s brow knotted. That was a hard question. He had no idea how to explain—he really didn’t even know the answer to it. _Well, whatever doesn’t make me uncomfortable_ sounded selfish and very unhelpful, even though it was sort of the truth.

“Well, I’m not going to bring you flowers or anything…” Levi muttered, rather proud of how he reigned in most of the sarcasm outside his small smirk. 

“Right, and I won’t make you breakfast in bed on Valentine’s Day,” Eren played along—but Levi could see it in his eyes, the seriousness. The investment in this moment. The importance. He was trying. He really was, wasn’t he?

“I’m not going to park outside your house and serenade you with ‘our song’ on the stereo,” Levi countered.

“Sure, when I go back home,” Eren said quickly, under his breath, like it needed to be said to be real. “No date nights.”

“Cuddling or hand-holding—” Levi waved a hand. “Physical contact is physical contact, I really don’t mind those things that much, but sometimes I really just don’t want to be touched.”

“No stupid little couples’ gifts or cutesy notes or watching the sunrise from the beach.”

“No cliché candlelight, slow dancing—”

“No eye contact during sex.”

“No sappy champagne-popping fancy dinner.”

“No boyfriend jacket…” At Levi’s pointed glance, Eren grinned again, tongue between the teeth. “No proposing to each other under the stars.”

“Oh my God,” Levi groaned. “I can’t even _think_ about things like marriage without getting really kind of agitated, actually—” He cut off into a huff of a sigh, gesturing more definitively. “You know what I’m talking about, Eren. You write fucking romance novels, you get the idea.”

Eren gestured back, just short of demandingly. “So what do you _want?_ ” he insisted.

For a moment, there were no words. No thoughts, even. Just a ceasefire in Levi’s head as his eyes drifted past Eren, roamed the dark room, settled on the city outside the windows.

“I want a coexistence,” he murmured, and it was strange how his voice felt so raw and so distant from his own mouth. “Not codependence. I want to flirt and kiss and have sex, with someone I care about personally, who I’m attracted to, but I cannot do everything every moment of every day together. There’s no special switch like that that gets flipped in me. Fuck that. That’s irritating and honestly, kind of overwhelming. And it’s not because I don’t care. I’m just not _in love_. I don’t feel _that_ type of attachment. I care, though, I’m not emotionless. It’s not friendship and it’s not romantic love, I guess it’s just somewhere deeper in between.”

“Monogamous,” Eren tried again. “That’s an important part to clarify.”

Levi opened his mouth to correct him, but—“Yeah,” he said, blinking a little. That was certainly part of it. Monogamous sexual relationship with a personal bond. “Actually… Yeah.”

“So… Dating, then.” 

Levi gave him a look through his fingers, hand draped across his forehead. The tentative spark in Eren’s eyes betrayed the joke.

“Dating without the love,” Eren revised.

Levi rolled his eyes in good humor. “Yeah,” he conceded with an exasperated sigh that became a wide yawn. God, he was sore. And worn the fuck out. It had been a long night. He was ready to sleep forever. Hopefully at least past the hour his alarm usually went off on work days.

“So what about ‘lover?’” Eren asked after a short silence. Lighthearted, playful—but utterly empty of contempt, and far from flippant. His eyes burned into Levi. Waiting. Urgent. Needed to know.   

 _Lover_.

How overindulgent. Sort of dated, a little flamboyant. Erotic in a dramatic, fetishy kind of way. Smut book language. The wealthy CEO’s mistress. The drug lord’s wife’s boy toy. The thrill of the forbidden fruit, danger and desire with no conditions. Almost too _Desperate Housewives_ to not be, admittedly, still sexy.  

But it was Eren’s way of reconciling, he realized. _Lover_. It was the place in him in which it all made the most sense. Levi understood that, no problem. Because it made sense to him there, too.

_Do I want something like that?_

It did sort of seem to fit, really. Intimate yet unbinding, physical at the core but still personal, serious even in its drama. Pleasure, gratification, stripped of affectation—and no responsibility, no need for, no obligation to romantic feeling. Kind of fun to say, actually. _Lover_. Felt salacious.

Levi could feel Eren on edge. What, did he think because it had the word _love_ in it, it was off limits? He sighed, rapped his knuckles on the wall in an absent little beat before turning to meet Eren’s eyes through his lashes.

“Yeah,” he acquiesced, and he meant it. “That works.”

Eren heaved a sigh. “There’s no way to put it in words, is there?”

Levi laughed. “No. I’ve tried. Trust me, I’ve tried.” He flopped his arm out and over, knuckles brushing up against Eren’s head. Gently, he flicked a finger out to tap him on the temple. “So, sorry. You’ll just have to deal with it. I guess the real question, then, is are you prepared for that? A relationship where you probably won’t get what you end up wanting?”

“Tch.” Eren issued a silent laugh, just a little grin as he swatted Levi’s hand away. “Look who’s full of himself, thinking I’m going to fall head over heels one day anyway. How cliché. Look, I told you already, this is what I want right now. So I guess in the end, that’s all up to me, not you, huh? My responsibility. I’m a grown man, Levi. I got this.”

 _Me, not you_.

That was what Levi was afraid of, sometimes.

 _I got this_.

Eren was still so young and naïve, honestly. Cute, and successful, and sexy, and he could have it all if he wanted to.

 _I want this. I want you_.

But Levi got to keep him for now, and that was, guiltily, relieving.

He was still worried. The underlying suspicion and doubt never actually went away. He couldn’t tell if the way Eren was looking at him was just that haunting, wild-souled thing about him—or the kind of unaware enchantment authors typically phrased _lovedrunk_. Levi could not expect him to be ready, nor prepared, nor equipped, nor aware enough to know the difference. To not fall in love with him. Maybe to be falling and not even know it. And it was selfish of him to expect anyone to forego those feelings, that totally human happiness…

Selfish to not really want to stop it, so long as it didn’t suffocate him and he did not have to give it back the same way.

“Hey,” Levi grunted, “you need a good night kiss or anything?”

Eren uttered a frustrated little sound of mixed disdain and entertainment. “You have to stop asking like that,” he said. “It sounds so funny.”

“What do you mean?”

Eren rolled onto his back and spread his hands dramatically. “New pitch to my agent—‘Android not wired for romance ends up dating a—’”

Levi craned up halfway to his elbows. “Did you just call me a fucking robot?”

Eren laughed hard enough to curl in on himself—harder when Levi tried to break through his shielding arms with a weak jab or two, no fists but careful little fake-hits that Eren grappled with until his laughter died out.

“No, I don’t need a good night kiss,” Eren conceded. “That’s too much like leaving the lights on or eye contact during sex. See? I got this.”

“Fuck you,” Levi mumbled kindly, kissed his palm and smacked it gently against Eren’s forehead before rolling over and jerking the blankets up over his shoulder, creating a barrier between them. “And that was just because you said no, by the way,” he said over his shoulder.

Eren laughed again. But in only a few minutes, he was out like a light.

* * *

Someone went to town on their car horn somewhere below on the downtown streets and Eren finally gave up on trying to sleep any longer. Light, spilling in through the glass. Overcast day but bright, cleansing. Looked as chilly as it probably felt outside. Sprawled on his stomach, one arm hanging off the side of the bed, Eren dragged his eyes only halfway open and glared grumpily out the patio door at the buildings, the deep gray water and the shore across it, rich green and dotted with expensive old houses.

He was alone in the bed, rumpled comforter and pillows that smelled like Levi. It was so odd, how people had their own distinct scents. A lot of books—not his, hell no—said dumb things like _musky_ and _sweet like white lilies_ and he’d even seen _cinnamon_ at one point, and that was weird. It was impossible to explain in words what a person smelled like, but Eren had never met anyone who smelled like cinnamon. His dad, on the other hand—his dad’s cologne was musky. Levi was not musky. He was sweet and warm like his skin, his hair. The scent lingered like a ghost.

Levi was asleep on the couch.

Strewn across the long sofa, out on a throw pillow and half-cocooned in Eren’s knit blanket. It covered half a stack of paper cradled loosely between his arm and his lap, only slightly unkempt. A manuscript, a Post-it note. He must have gotten up early to work and dozed off again, the workaholic.

Eren slid his phone off the kitchen counter where he’d left it last night.

From: DAD

_New Year, New You!_

With a stupid little image attached, the kind with the inspirational quote and pretty scenery background. Eren sighed. His dad was so embarrassing sometimes.

From: MIKASA

_I work til 4 today._

Eren had no idea how Levi liked his tea, but he managed to just make a mug of Earl Grey after standing there scratching his head for a good bleary-eyed few minutes. Levi was still out hard by the time Eren got out of the shower, dressed and ready to head out for Tea Republik to loiter while Mikasa worked. Had to hit the store, hanging out with Armin later…

Shrugging into his coat and gathering his keys as soundlessly as possible, Eren’s gaze hung on Levi from the front door.

_Why do people need them? I’m supposed to like it? What’s the point?_

He seemed like a different person, asleep there on the couch. Still. Soft. Absolutely at peace. Lips parted, shoulders moving ever so slightly as he breathed. Looked more like his mom’s Levi, the Levi in the Facebook profile picture. Not as tense, not quite as quiet. Back when his gray-blue eyes didn’t seem so tired all the time.

_I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that way._

Sometimes Eren forgot that Levi being his mom’s friend meant he’d lost her, too. That was pretty shitty of him.

_Coexistence._

Was this like the adult version of that stupid, meaningless teenage crush?

_Feels fake._

He wasn’t _in love_ with Levi back then. He’d barely known him. He’d actually just hated Levi for the way he’d always gotten so flustered around him, desperate to impress him, frustrated and kind of intimidated by his inability to just keep it together around an attractive guy. An _older_ attractive guy. How disastrously obsessed he’d been with the way Levi looked in this sweater or that pair of slacks, the silk of his alto and how he never seemed to struggle with speaking confident and on point, the impenetrability of his glance, his almost lofty, almost bored demeanor, hands casually in his pockets, hair falling across his eyes. The onslaught of hormones held at bay until puberty broke the dam and everything came flooding out at once—confused, powerless, caught up and not sure what to do—that indiscriminate and incoherent infatuation in the mute, volatile way of sexual awakening.

And now they were basically living together, and it was so very different somehow.

_I want this._

Carefully, Eren left, holding the doorknob so the latch did not make a sound once the door was closed and he released it in the jamb. Gently locked it. Got out his gloves and tossed his scarf around his shoulders as he waited for the elevator. Outside, the January air was definitely just as cold as it looked. It was refreshing. He liked it. Hurt his nose, but pure and purifying when he breathed it in deep.

If the aro talk had been a Pinch Point, this was definitely the Point of No Return. Except—no, he could not compare this to everything else. He refused to. Again it gave him pause, to realize how eager he was for a relationship like this, new and kind of thrilling and weirdly liberating. The reckless sexual freedom that romance framed as selfish, self-destructive, symptomatic. It went against everything he stood for. And yet it made him feel kind of giddy this morning, actually. Like he’d gotten away with something forbidden. Like he could do anything. Nothing to lose and all.   

And if that made him greedy or reckless, so be it.

Eren wanted to let himself have it.

 

**end ch. xii**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyooo guys this cover is so hot, song pairing - **eli lieb** | _good for you_ (cover)


	13. Watching Through Our Fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What would your mother think?" // "I had the biggest crush on you when I was younger," Eren said with a crooked little grin, brows raised. // When he was in grade school, his dad took him to the Seattle Public Library on 4th Avenue to get his first library card. // "Will you come with me to the house?" // Levi didn’t look at him—just smiled so absently and so faintly, maybe he didn’t know that he did it, hair falling into his eyes as he turned around. // "A squish. An aro crush." // Eren was so close to choking on his orange juice that some of it stung the back of his nose as he ripped the glass from his mouth and sputtered, "Oh my God! Dad! Stop envisioning it! Shit!" // Unread e-mail: eldjinn@wslit.com, Subject: Re: Rec – Possible Acquisition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay idefk song pairing, i’m tired and think i’m getting sick so all i could manage was reading this chapter over and over and over like 3 times today still thinking wow, what is this shit, bye **tl;dr** in which the dummies cook dinner together at some point and Eren reminds Levi a number of times why Levi enjoys his company, and in which a few hickeys make Eren realize he’s being a fucking brat to his dad and everything is real real real

* * *

 

Eren was lucky enough to have Fridays free winter quarter, but that also meant for the first two weeks of January he had no idea what to do with a regular three-day weekend. No business—nothing from the publicity department, the barrage of interviews regarding his mother had dissipated a while ago, the royalties processed, all in his name now, and bills were paid, the probate hearing was in a week and a half…

It was icy out, but pretty—mother-of-pearl sky, deep gray of the bay. Some seabirds kept perching on Levi’s balcony and calling out, but Eren wasn’t awake enough yet to be annoyed. When had sleeping in gone from noon or later to just barely ten a.m.? So not fair.

 _4 missed calls_ – DAD, DAD, DAD, DAD

From: DAD

_Eren, where are you? Are you up?_

And two fucking voicemails, Jesus Christ. Eren dropped his phone down on the couch beside him and cozied up with his laptop and the knit throw blanket, staring emptily at the TV as his computer started up. Not really watching, just fading into the low volume of it in the quiet apartment. He’d listen to the voicemails after he woke up a little more. He checked his handful of e-mail accounts. All right, there it was—first round of edits for that manuscript he’d sent three weeks ago. God, they were fast. Didn’t fuck around when it was contract work. He needed to grade, too, but honestly, edits sounded so much more fun. Take a break and clean the apartment. Go over to the house and work on it some more, maybe have Armin and Mikasa come over and help if they didn’t have class or work—

 _Knock-knock-knock_.

Eren bristled, eyes widening. Who the hell—someone Levi knew? Neighbor? Wrong door? Levi was at work. Even when he was home, the only visitors he really had were Erwin and Hanji. Nobody Eren knew had Levi’s address—

Eren threw his head back against the couch and moaned, “Oh, fucking _come_ _on_ …”

“Thank God,” his dad breathed after Eren cracked the front door open and peeked sullenly out. His shoulders drooped, brow knotted, face flushed from the cold midmorning. “Did you just wake up?”

“Um, yeah.” Eren rubbed at his eyes with pinched fingers, dragged his hand down his face though it didn’t change at all the bleary exasperation with which he stared at his father. “Sorry. My phone was on vibrate.” He heaved a sigh and opened the door all the way, letting his dad follow him in to the kitchen, bare feet shuffling on linoleum.

“What’s the matter?” he mumbled as he swung the fridge open and dragged out the orange juice.  

“I was just worried when you didn’t answer.” His dad smiled a little, tight, apologetic. He leaned there at the place where carpet met kitchen, elbow propped on the island counter, clearly struggling not to survey the place so he could make more inferences this way or that about where Eren was staying.  

Eren just stared at him, still sleepy-eyed, face dimpled soft and skeptical with his glass of orange juice halfway to his mouth as he tried to figure out why on earth his dad would be so worried and why it made him feel kind of panicky to hear that. “What the fuck, Dad?” he sighed miserably.

Worried. Why? Did his dad really think he was so emotionally unstable still? That not being able to get in contact with him ASAP was a bad sign? A bad sign of what? Some sort of surviving parent separation anxiety, or something? Maybe. Eren had no idea how his dad was dealing with everything. Which, admittedly, was a dick move on his part. Maybe it was more like surviving parent _guilt_ , some desperation to fill newly empty shoes that clearly didn’t fit and were hardly made for him and it just felt like when someone you didn’t really know that well hugged you too tightly and too long—

“What the hell, Eren?” his dad parroted, and for a moment, Eren thought he was mocking him, or preparing a lecture, or some other really unnecessary on a Friday morning thing.  

“What?” he snapped.

His dad gestured a little. Eren gestured back, raising his brows. His dad raised his brows, too, and moved his gesturing up to his throat, stiff hand turning circles like the rings around a bull’s eye—

Oh, for shit’s sake— _again?_

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Eren growled below his breath, setting his drink down hard and darting off for the bathroom mirror. He looked wonderful, didn’t he? In all his Straight Outta Bed glory, bedhead and groggy eyes, oversized hockey shirt slipping at the collar towards one shoulder—actually, he’d forgotten to give this shirt back to Jean, he needed to ask if he even remembered Eren had it—

Yes, sir, two hickeys. Faint, not quite speckled or violet, but there and apparently pretty obvious. Fucking Levi—

Eren sidled out of the bathroom halfway, practically hiding at the doorjamb as he flipped off the light and squinted warily at his dad over a frown maybe too sheepish not to be a pout.

“Just because I look like a wreck doesn’t mean I _am_ a wreck, okay,” he contended, face on fire. “I’m sorry I missed your calls and didn’t text you back. I didn’t mean to worry you. I just got up…”

His dad just studied him, head tipped gently. Brow still pinched, mouth in a tart line. Not quite disappointed and not quite judgmental, but not quite _not_ like a parent coming to terms with the reality that they knew nothing of their child’s real autonomy.

“Are you…?” his dad trailed off, shrugging a little like a preemptive apology. Maybe waiting for permission to ask about his son’s sex life. Or maybe he just finally remembered that Eren was almost twenty-five, not fifteen, and that was far too old to be looked at like he’d just been caught sneaking home after a party or something.

“Well, it’s not…” Eren shrugged back, blushing furiously. 

“Are you still with…?” Clearly his dad had forgotten Jean’s name.

Eren shuffled back over and around his dad to grab his orange juice before he finally cut him a remorseful look from the corner of his eye. “We broke up…?” The words faded into the little upturn of a question, or an audible comma, the pause before new words that weren’t there yet. Awkward. Painfully, torturously awkward. He wasn’t exactly sure how to talk to his dad about that sort of thing. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure he knew what he really thought of him being…

His dad’s eyes swerved over to him like whiplash in a glance.

He cried, just short of censure, “Eren, are you dating your mother’s _editor?_ ”

Eren almost choked on an aggressive little, “Uh—” that didn’t really help his case whatsoever.

“Is that why you’re staying here? _Eren?_ ” A look of astonishment and sharp dismay twisted his father’s face, as if the prospect were some great scandal for which Eren should feel ashamed or at least alarmed.

“We’re not—” Eren waved his hands like he could actually fend off the obvious, flustered and frantic. Fuck, fuck, fuck. _Fuck_. What did he say? There was no cover for it, was there? It was kind of hard to deny. He had to admit that that was the only real logical assumption left for why he, Eren, not exactly subtle, wasn’t staying with Jean, or Mikasa, or Armin, if he wasn’t at his dad’s and he wasn’t at home. His dad had already been pretty suspicious when he’d stopped by on Christmas, keyed in immediately on the oddness of Levi Ackerman’s sudden role reprisal, and damn it, maybe he could have gotten away with it if not for the _fucking hickeys_ —

“It’s complicated,” Eren finally sputtered.

Soft horror dawned across his father’s face at the confirmation. “Eren, what would your mother think?”

Sick pinch of the heart. “I don’t—I don’t fucking know, maybe she’d be happy I’m happy—”

“How much older than you is he, again? What—I don’t understand, you don’t even _know_ him!”

Eren reared back at the concern for his wellbeing there. Misplaced and a little late, huh? “Yes, I do,” he argued, hard. Well, _now_ he knew him, anyway. “Dad, please—it’s really not a big deal—it’s not as fucked up as you think it is because I know exactly what you’re thinking. Yes, Mom and I have known him for a long time. Yes, he used to work with her, but they were friends, too, and—that doesn’t make him some kind of predator or something. Like I’m being taken advantage of by this creepy, scheming older guy—”

“Okay, but I work with this nurse who lived in San Francisco and he said he had quite a lot of friends who had older—well, you know, ‘sugar daddies’—he said it’s more common than one would think in the gay commu—”

“Oh my God, Dad, _stop!_ ” Eren’s voice frayed even as it rattled vehemently around the kitchen. It left him feeling out of breath. His throat was tight, raw. His eyes burned like he was going to cry, but he wasn’t going to cry. He was just so frustrated, brutally embarrassed. Insulted secondhand and insulted firsthand and absolutely beyond unprepared for, let alone interested in, this kind of moment with his father.    

_What would your mother think?_

His dad frowned at him longingly from across the kitchen. Defeated—but respectful, at least, of the honest plea in the small outburst. And looking very, very tired. Downcast. As if he felt he should have already known all of this—Eren, and Levi and everything—but had missed something important along the way so it was his fault they were in this very awkward, very uncomfortable situation.

And maybe Eren was a horrible person, but he didn’t say anything to make him think otherwise.

“Did she know?” his dad asked finally. He had his hands in his coat pockets, leaning back against the counter now with one knee gently bent, toe to the floor. Mouth tightening, loosening, tightening under his faint stubble. Eyes busy with thought. His hair was free today, just tucked behind his ears, so neatly combed and parted in the middle. Given a different wardrobe, he might have even looked slightly fashionable. He didn’t know what to think, Eren figured. What to feel. Eren owed him that. He was his father, after all. He had the right to be a little overprotective now and again. Plus, he’d been in the same boat himself a few months ago. But the question still stabbed something deep in his chest, something sore and ashamed. _Did she know?_

Eren had no idea how the fuck to answer that. Nope, she did not, because it wasn’t until the night of her fucking funeral that any of it had started. Levi Ackerman. Mom’s friend. Mom’s editor. Familiar stranger. How was _that_ for a family state of the union.

God, this was terrible. Great. Just great. Eren couldn’t figure out whether to feel absolutely humiliated or frustrated or terrified everything had just been ruined. _Dating your mother’s…?_ Good morning, this was all real as fuck. Did he tell Levi his dad had put two and two together? Did he just let it slide? No, what if his dad said something later on, trying to be all hip and supportive, something that gave away he knew they were involved but was utterly ignorant to the fine print of their relationship? Eren would have to explain then, and Levi would probably be really upset his dad knew and Eren hadn’t told him. And what if it changed the way everything felt? What if it wasn’t as exciting anymore because someone knew? In the periphery, his dad’s eyes darted about, appraising him in a peculiar way—

Eren was so close to choking on his orange juice that some of it stung the back of his nose as he ripped the glass from his mouth and sputtered, “Oh my _God!_ Dad! Stop envisioning it! Shit!”

“I’m sorry, I just—it’s hard to imagine—”

“ _Don’t imagine it, then!_ ”

“I’m not _imagining_ it, Eren, I’m thinking about it!”

“About how a guy gets hickeys? Hey, Dad, sit down, I think it’s time we go over the birds and the bees—”

“Eren, I meant I’m thinking about the _situation!_ ” his dad stressed, voice swelling like his shoulders, his temper. He was getting impatient with the flippancy. Maybe hurt from the secrecy. Not convinced he shouldn’t be perturbed. He closed his eyes and breathed a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses as his brow furrowed low in a series of deep creases.

“Well, you know what,” Eren started—and cut himself off with a quick stutter of breath.

His dad adjusted his glasses, waiting. But Eren just slumped back against the counter, crestfallen. His mouth fell closed—lips just gently parted to let out the breath from behind the words that would have come next. 

_Maybe if you gave a shit at all instead of just criticizing everything I do if it doesn’t meet your standards, you’d know more about my life—what’s my favorite color? How do I like my coffee? What classes am I teaching this quarter? How do I feel about universal healthcare? How often do I hear you in the back of my head telling me you wish I wouldn’t write, every time I work on a harlequin and just stare at the blank screen, completely stuck?_

His father raised his brows. “Eren…?” he murmured.

Eren wilted. He didn’t really have the energy to be this way today. To keep telling himself he wasn’t also at fault. His mom would not have wanted him to be so cruel. He, actually, didn’t know why he wanted to be so cruel. What the fuck was his problem? It just exhausted him, thinking about carrying this conversation forward. It hurt but it didn’t hurt like it used to—it hurt because he just wanted it all to _stop_.

Eren cleared his throat. “Are you off today?”

“Well, on call, yes…”

His dad was all he had left, anyway.

“Will you come with me to the house?”

His dad flashed him a pitifully surprised look like he’d misheard. His eyes volleyed around the apartment.

“Yeah, he’s at work,” Eren confirmed, meekly. “Levi.”

“Yes,” his dad said, so eagerly. Still a little blue, still a little uncomfortable like he really wanted to keep asking about Levi Ackerman but also really _didn’t_ want to ask—and Eren did not want him to ask—but he was none the less excited for the invitation. “Of course, and we can get lunch after.”

Eren finished off his orange juice and gave his dad a one-armed hug in passing. Paused. Let the hug last a little longer than he’d intended, let his dad’s hand settle on his shoulder, arm hooked and holding him there where Eren could smash his face into the lapel of his coat. And then he pulled free and went to get dressed.

* * *

To: LEVI

_wow could you chill with the hickeys, thanks_

From: LEVI

_Sorry._

To: LEVI

_guess who stopped by to see them firsthand, my FATHER_

When he was in grade school, his dad took him to the Seattle Public Library on 4th Avenue to get his first library card. The library was enormous—massive, big enough to swallow a kid like Eren whole, bright and vast like a museum—and his dad put a hand on his head and said, “Get as many books as you want,” while he filled out the paperwork for the card. His dad had looked at military and world history books after, passed one down now and again for Eren to add to the stack of books he’d picked out himself. “Here you go, soldier,” he said.

“Did they really hear the gunshot all the way around the world?” Eren had asked, holding a thick and musty-smelling volume up to show his dad the black and white old-timey photo of a man in a double-breasted coat and a woman all in white walking down steps to a carriage without a roof.

“What’s that, now?” his father murmured, stooping down a little and lifting his glasses to examine the photograph. “Oh, Archduke Ferdinand? No, sweetheart, it’s a saying. It means what happened affected the whole world.”

“What happened?”

“Archduke Ferdinand was killed and it started the first world war.”

“So everyone was mad he died.”

“Well…” His dad had just smiled a little, adjusted his glasses, ruffled Eren’s hair and went back to the shelves. “Yes, everyone was mad he died.”

“I want books like these,” Eren said, pushing his stack of middle grades aside and standing up to his tiptoes to study the shelf his father was at. “Soldier books.”

Once, he fell asleep on the kitchen floor waiting for his dad to get home, and he had his pillow and blanket but he fell asleep with his head on a book about World War II, a lot of which he didn’t really understand—like what did it mean when it said the Pacific theater and what was a _megalomaniac_. But he liked looking at the huge pictures of bombed-out cities and German soldiers, Russian soldiers, American soldiers. He woke up to his dad blocking the way the porch light fell in through the window above the sink, scooping him up to take him to bed.

“Thanks for waiting up, soldier,” his dad said, and the sides of his face were scratchy against Eren’s cheek. “You’re clear to leave your post.” 

“Keep this safe for me, soldier,” his dad also said, crouched at the side of his bed, and Eren had given him a funny look as he held out one of his favorite old-time doctor tools. He collected them and kept them in his office, and his mom said they were terrifying and gross but in a strangely romantic, historical way, so she liked them. This one resembled a giant skeleton key a bit, with a screw-like end. His dad said it was a tonsil snare from the same time as Archduke Ferdinand—

 _Bvvt. Bvvt_.

From: LEVI

_I am not about to have your father randomly showing_

_up at my apt. Do something about that please._

Eren sighed curtly, hovering in the doorway of what used to be his dad’s office. On the other side of the living room, a cramped little area that wasn’t really a room more than it was a spacious walkway. Past the washer and dryer, two steps of original vinyl down towards the side door, all chipping paint and long hinges, which for as long as Eren could remember had never really been used at all.

He remembered looking at the office empty for the first time. Almost fifteen years ago, when it finally dawned on him that _divorce_ meant his dad was not living with them anymore. The desk disappeared, the filing cabinet, the squat bookshelf that had had all those fat books about body parts and history and soldiers. The little collection of vintage medical tools marching along the top.

All of it, gone.

Just the side door with the gauzy curtain pinned against the window, the robin-egg walls, the cold bronze doorknob and three different locks stuck in place from disuse. It was barricaded now by the handful of things Eren had managed to pack up and move out of sight, added to the rest of the storage. Just clutter. Box of holiday decorations. Box of forgotten stuff. On top of the box of Grandma’s china, the mug from Christmas a handful of years ago. Resting upside down in it, the old tonsil snare.

To: LEVI

_don’t be a dick, he’s not a monster_

His dad had the bin of photos out—albums and glossy, rubber-banded Walgreen’s prints—seated on the living room floor with it. He looked up when Eren came back around the corner in that same way he used to look at him when he came in at night and found him on the kitchen floor. Feigning surprise. Pleased to see him. Gently, privately worshipful like parents always were of their children.

And sad, too. Smiling a little, scratching at the side of his head absently as he held out some 8-by-10s for Eren to see.

“I miss her,” he said on a thick sigh.

Eren’s chest tightened. Oh God, fuck, don’t, he was not mentally nor emotionally prepared for his dad to break. He grabbed the pictures and plopped down on the couch, pulling his feet up. He didn’t know what to say. Hanging out in the house, organizing things, packing things, cleaning things, prepping to come back on his own—he still wasn’t quite sure what that meant, or when he’d be done with it, and he wasn’t joking anymore about maybe selling the place.

But for once, being there, he felt kind of…hopeful.

Because it wasn’t so bad this time. He didn’t even feel weird being there with his dad, burgling through a mausoleum of memories that didn’t seem familiar sometimes.

They were familiar today. His mom. Not like a ghost, just—part of the quiet. Part of the house. The rooms, the furniture, the sounds, the smells. Today Eren kind of hoped it would always be like that. And he was also kind of unspeakably grateful his dad was there, too. Maybe that was why the place felt almost complete again, somehow.

His dad…

“Same,” Eren whispered, lifting his eyes shyly. “And I miss you sometimes, too, you know.”

His dad didn’t say anything. Just held Eren’s gaze for a moment, nodded quietly, and smiled a bit more.  

* * *

 

_Unread e-mail: eldjinn@wslit.com <Subject: Re: Rec – Possible Acquisition>_

Eren was in the shower, playing fuzzy music presumably from his phone, beyond the rush of water and roar of the bathroom fan.

Levi propped a hand on his hip, all the groceries still in bags on the island counter. With the flick of a thumb he opened the e-mail from Eld.

_Levi,_

_The sample’s great, your judgment never fails. When you’re done reviewing send the full my way._

_Eld Jinn, Wesley and Schultz Lit, New York_

Levi bit the inside of his lip, pulling his mouth into a tight line.

The sample—the first twenty-five pages of WISTERIA, by EREN JÄGER.

Maybe he was a little bit of a jerk for this.

 _If I were Hemingway…_  

It was unscrupulous, yes, going behind Eren’s back. But at the same time, it was hard to feel completely bad. This was business. He knew what he was doing. He was right about Eren’s ability to branch out of harlequins, and as soon as he could prove he was right, he’d show Eren and Eren would realize he was right.

_RE: Re: Rec – Possible Acquisition_

_I should be done this week, it’s a hard copy, have to digitize the whole thing. I can scan into a PDF or just send a paper copy. Let me know._

_Levi Ackerman, Senior Editor, Hawthorne Literary Agency_

Levi slid his phone to the counter and started unloading the groceries.

Eren was singing along to the music. Not too loud, not too serious, just sort of absentmindedly following the lyrics in something only notches above a murmur. Levi didn’t know the song—something contemporary, that melancholic indie folk sort of alternative that wasn’t quite coffee shop but wasn’t quite mainstream enough. He liked that music, too. Something else in common. Good taste in music.  

What a precious human being. Levi smiled faintly to himself over the rustle of reusable shopping bags. If Eren knew he was not alone in the apartment, there was no way he’d be singing. He wasn’t half bad, either. Just slightly off here and there, strain of a half-whisper. Like he didn’t even realize what he was doing.

Squeak of the shower faucet. New song. Shuffling. An annoyed, “Oh, fuck me…” muffled by the bathroom door, jerk of the knob—

Eren stopped short in the doorway, staring at Levi. Nothing but a towel clutched haphazardly at his hip, dripping hair, flushed skin, bare shoulders spotted with beads of water.

Levi pulled a small lemon out of the bag and raised his brows at Eren from the kitchen.

“I fucking forgot my clothes,” Eren grumbled, more to himself it seemed, as he dashed into the spare room then quickly dashed back to the bathroom.

“Hey,” Levi called. “It’s my night to have Hanji and Erwin over. I don’t mind if you stay, I don’t mind if you go out. Just a heads up, I guess.”

Eren poked his head out of the bathroom, towel-drying his hair. “I’ll help you cook.”

Levi peered at him a moment, folding an empty grocery bag down into itself. “All right,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Eren grunted, noncommittal, and closed the bathroom door again after ducking away into the steam and the light.

* * *

“Oh my God, Levi, stop—didn’t your mom ever teach you to trim meat?”

Levi heaved a petulant huff of a sigh and dropped the knife to the cutting board, snapped Eren a frustrated glance. Eren laughed, elbowing him away so he could take over the poor tenderloin.

Levi snorted, washing his hands off. “Do you really want to know what my mom taught me?”

It sounded like wit and banter, but Eren wasn’t quite sure it was a hundred percent play. He glanced at Levi over his shoulder—Levi was busy getting out the blender for the rest of the meal prep.

“I forgot Carla was all about cooking,” he said.

“Yeah.” Eren shrugged, trying to keep from getting anything under his fingernails as he worked fat off the side of the center-cut. “She said it’s because of all the horror stories being a waitress.”

“My mom liked making desserts,” Levi said. “Which, you know, being a kid, I thought was fantastic.”

“Did you ever get the whole can’t leave the table until you finish your vegetables bit, too?”

“Oh God, yeah. It was terrible.” Levi leaned over to his laptop to check the recipe, which was pulled up on a web browser. “Hey, are you done? Come chop this garlic.”

“Mince it?” Eren dried off his clean hands.

“Fuck off.”

Eren grinned. A gentle wordlessness settled—just the tap of knife against cutting board, the crunch of day-old bread broken into crumbs, scrape of lemon against a metal grater. _My mom…_ Eren wanted to know more about her. Levi’s mom. But he also knew it was a terrible idea to ask. Seriously. Bad idea. Not his right. Not right now.

“Shit—will you stick a red in the freezer for like, ten minutes? The Lapierre, the 2010. I forgot to chill it this morning.”

“I went to the house today,” Eren said, bottle of wine clinking against the small wrought-iron rack. “With my dad.”

Levi was quiet for a moment. _Do something about that, please._ Didn’t look at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t so bad.” Eren wedged the wine in the freezer between ice-maker and bags of food. He closed the door, fingers looped loosely around the handle. Looking at nothing, really. Some fingerprints on the stainless steel. The grain of faux granite.

“Hey,” he said, turning around just halfway to look at Levi with his chin to his shoulder, hand tightening on the freezer door. Levi looked up, one brow almost cocked, not quite raised.

“What?” he prompted.

“I had the biggest crush on you when I was younger,” Eren said with a crooked little grin, brows raised. _Funny, right?_ And before the words came out, they’d definitely felt funny and insignificant. But then they were out and Eren’s heart lurched to his throat in immediate regret. He cut Levi another urgent glance without turning around. What the fuck made him think it was a good idea to say that—?

Levi had stopped and turned around, too, looking at Eren like he didn’t really see him. Pinch to his brow and a shy sort of shock and self-consciousness softening his face like—like he was apprehensive, and humbled, and confused and uncertain. Like he hadn’t known at all. Like he didn’t expect anyone to have a crush on him. Ever. God, Levi…

Eren tried to play it off. He made a face and laughed, shook his head. “I know, right? Gross. I was ridiculous.”

Levi’s eyes flashed away to his hands, scraping chopped anchovies off the cutting board into the blender with the Worcestershire and the garlic and the bread crumbs. His smile matched the pinch in his brow.

“Those reek,” Eren mumbled, nose wrinkled.

“Yeah, they do,” Levi mumbled back with equal distaste. “I don’t fucking know why they’re in the recipe, but I’m not a chef, so…” He ditched the cutting board in the sink and washed his hands, tossed down the dish towel and faced Eren, leaning back against the counter. Arms crossed. That familiar default look about him—the lofty boredom, the veil of borderline cynical, arbitrary observation. Not entirely indifferent. Eyes sharp, fast. It was his safeguard, it seemed.

Eren stared back at him, chin pressed to his shoulder. Face on fire. Sort of hating himself for bringing it up. Dreading the wrong impression. _I had a—_

“A crush, huh?” Levi echoed politely, little flick of the brow like he was, actually, intrigued by this new development—old development?—new information.

“Yup.” Eren shrugged it off with another short laugh. He drummed his fingers on the stainless steel then pivoted to mirror Levi on his side of the kitchen, foot bouncing nervously. “Well, not like I wanted to _be with_ you, I was just kind of obsessed with you.”

Levi’s brow knotted in friendly doubt, careful curiosity. “Obsessed?”

Okay, it was a strong word. “Infatuated?” Eren tried again, shrugging impatiently. “I don’t know, I was like, sixteen and stupid and hypersensitive like stupid sixteen-year-olds are, and I hated you but I also thought you were all hot and mysterious and stuff, and—you know how puberty’s a hormonal shitshow—yeah, look, it doesn’t even matter, I just thought maybe you’d get a laugh out of it…”

“Stop,” Levi said curtly.

Eren stopped bouncing his foot, which was rattling the lower cupboard with every jump. “Sorry.”

Levi waited for him to go on. Eren didn’t really know what else to say. Finally Levi’s mouth perked in a little smile—nothing cruel, nothing sarcastic. Something sort of distantly amused that didn’t really feel like a bad thing at all. He went back to putting everything in the blender. “That’s hilarious,” he said. “Everything makes so much sense now.”

Eren opened his mouth for a rebuttal—but he had no idea against what he’d argue. _Hilarious. Makes so much sense_. He tried to explain, at least: “You don’t get crushes, so I know you don’t really get what I’m saying, but—yeah, this, right now, it has nothing to do with that. I was just a dumb teenager who had the hots for you for like, no reason.”

“I know what a crush is, Eren. I’m not a moron.” Levi scoffed, in that almost patronizing but not quite unkind sort of way that made Eren remember, not without a vindictive rush of heat to his cheeks, just how many years his senior Levi was. Levi twisted around to raise his brows at him, the ghost of a smirk still flirting with his mouth. “And what you’re telling me kind of reinforces my theory that crushes have nothing to do with love sometimes.”

Eren squinted at him, uncertain. “What do you mean…?”

Levi shrugged. “You had the hots for me, but you didn’t like me, apparently. So you crushed out of attraction, not affection.”

“Well—yeah, but—”

“You know nothing, Jon Snow,” Levi warned below his breath with a flat sort of drama.

“Oh my God.” Eren rolled his eyes and dragged both hands down his face in exasperation. Mostly to hide the fact that that tickled him a little and he was blushing furiously, embarrassed. “I don’t think it’s very fair that you, of all people, can just so easily disassemble everything that makes sense about love.”  

Levi didn’t look at him—just smiled so absently and so faintly, maybe he didn’t know that he did it, head low, hair falling into his eyes as he turned around and plopped the top on the blender. “I need the steak,” he murmured after a moment.

“Tenderloin,” Eren corrected in a pathetic grumble. “So yeah, I had a lust-crush on you. Whatever. Same neurochemical con job. But it was most certainly not a squish.”

Levi stopped. “I’m sorry, what?”

Eren shrugged below an impatient frown. He thudded the cutting board of trimmed meat down near the blender and went back for the baking pan and aluminum foil. “A squish. You wouldn’t have a crush on me, you’d have a squish on me.”

Levi wore a look of mixed skepticism and bewilderment. “What the _fuck_ is that?”

“An aro crush?” Eren ripped a long sheet of aluminum foil. “I looked it up. I Googled it.”

“A _squish_ ,” Levi echoed, incredulous. His eyes followed Eren, face still pinched in helpless confusion, like Eren was making it up. And then he just burst into laughter, propped himself against the counter with locked arms and _laughed_. Brow creased, eyes squeezed shut, head back. Oh, he looked so young like that. Faint dimples just off the lines of his open-mouthed smile.

Eren reared back, insulted. Humiliated. He was _trying_ , for fuck’s sake, and Levi had the nerve to laugh at him? “What?” he snapped, severely flustered, but Levi laughed over it and Eren finally just surrendered to the sound—had he ever really heard Levi laugh like that? Maybe only when he was around Erwin and Hanji, when that secret self of his crept out for an hour or two. Weightless, infectious laughter. Eren had just made him laugh like that. And the way that felt made it impossible not to fall into the laughter, too. _Squish_. All right, it was pretty fucking funny.

Levi dragged a palm against the corner of his eye like there were tears from laughing. “Oh my God,” he said between breaths. “Why the fuck is that so— _squish_. That’s so random and weird. A non-romantic crush? Is that what you said it was?”

“Yeah—you just like someone so much, but not like you’re in love with them.”

“Okay, then. Squish.”

“Yeah, asshole. Look, maybe you should get hip with the terminology, here.”

Levi flashed him one of those quick, cat-eyed glances like he did when their humor and good moods were in sync. Half smirk, playful disdain. Sort of suggestive, maybe only because Eren found it extremely attractive. Levi didn’t say anything. His eyes lingered as he started the blender. He said they had to coat the meat with the mixture, roast for forty minutes…

Eren fiddled with the edge of the aluminum foil, smiling aimlessly to himself too long before he realized he did it. “What else are you having with this, anyway?” he asked over the noise.

“Hanji’s hash brown casserole and Erwin made us his grandmother’s recipe vinegret, or whatever it’s called,” Levi replied. His eyes found Eren’s again to confirm the unspoken question—that _us_ meant Eren was included.

 

 

**end ch. xiii**


	14. Got a Lot of Love to Give

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren snagged Levi’s coat off the hook and flopped it gently over his shoulder. "Get up," he said, "we’re going out." // January 14th, 1992 and Uncle Kenny in the school office, waiting. // "You’re going to give me all of you until you have nothing left." // "My mom loved this park," Eren explained. "In the summer, she’d bring me and Armin here to play while she sat around and read and ‘got sun.’" // He was already in the open door of his office, standing there all windblown and mad-looking. Eyes wide and wild in a cold, vicious way— // Levi was not fucking afraid of Eren falling in love with him. // "I don’t need you to do things like that for me!" His voice cracked as if the words leapt out before it was ready, clamoring one over the other, louder, louder. "Fuck! Never mind love, you don’t even know how to do nice things the right way!" // "Okay," Erwin husked. "Let’s do it, then, Levi." The train was just an echo. "Let’s…stop."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song pairing – **wolf colony** | _pleasure_

“Do you know how much it annoys me when your laundry is all tangled up like this?”

In his chair in the closet office, Eren rolled his eyes and knocked his reading glasses askew when he tried to rake his hand through his hair, because he forgot they were perched up there on his head like sunglasses.

“What the hell do you mean, tangled up?” he called back.

The slatted doors to the narrow little stacked laundry closet muffled Levi’s voice. “What, do you just kick around like a dying fish to get your pants off or something? They’re always wadded up all half inside out—”

“Sorry, _Mom_ ,” Eren groaned.

There was the hollow thud of the washer shoved shut, scrape of laundry door against tile floor. Kick of the wash cycle starting.

Eren sighed and pushed away from his desk. He watched Levi from the door of the makeshift office, idly swinging his reading glasses from one finger.

“Hey, thanks for your help with that one scene a while ago,” Eren said. Levi dropped his laundry basket into his own laundry basket and kicked them both out of the way as he strode back to his desk. “The editor thought it was great.”

“Great,” Levi replied.

“Do you need anything?” Eren snapped, and he probably shouldn’t have been so impatient because he actually really meant it out of goodwill. “Like, can I grab you dinner or something? Did you have a bad day at work?”

“I have two edits due by the end of next week and three samples to review for Petra,” Levi said like he’d rather Eren just go away. 

“So you’re busy,” Eren surmised. “Cool. Do you want me to get you dinner?” he tried again.

“ _No_ ,” Levi cut back without even turning around, sinking down into his desk chair. There was a moment where Eren fully expected _I just need space_ to come next; that was what it felt like. Like Christmas, that same tension like a violin string wound closer and closer to snapping.

Eren swung into the spare room. He threw on a pair of real pants, yanked an oversized sweater down over his head, snagged Levi’s coat off the hook and flopped it gently over the back of his chair, over his shoulder.

Levi flashed a hostile look at it like it had personally insulted him and was about to pay dearly. But it was just a coat. His eyes swerved up to Eren next, sharp gray-blue and demanding an explanation.

“Get up,” Eren said, “we’re going out.”

Levi inhaled hard, but Eren didn’t spare him a second to even sharpen his words for use.

“Come on,” he stressed. “Take a break, reset your mind. And if you’re still freaking out about getting it all done, Jean knows a guy who knows a guy who sells his Adderall. Unless you prefer Vyvanse.”

* * *

Café Ladro was a bit of a walk, but Levi had said grudgingly as he locked the front door behind them, “The fresh air will help, I think.”

Brisk walk, huddled into themselves but hardly close together against the gnashing teeth of the evening wind, crisp smell of winter and water. It was snuggly inside the coffee shop, coats draped over the backs of their chairs, watching cars pass and pedestrians pass from the window bar. Headlights rolled through the deepening blue of slow sunset, gray, full dark by just barely seven. There weren’t any more words than there’d been on the walk over. _Turn here? Yeah, turn here. Just cross, there are no cars. What do you usually get? I get the filthy chai_. 

Levi had been fully prepared for tension. Eren, not really walking on eggshells but impatient and tense and ready to jump to arms.

But the tension was not there. Not in Eren’s shoulders, not in his brow, and especially not in the way his fingers swirled idly against the side of his coffee mug, eyes aimlessly roaming the world outside. Quiet, and dull, just hazel embers of the usual fire. Levi flipped through one of the complimentary copies of _The Stranger_ , but he didn’t really read much. Just wondered if he should feel guilty for Eren’s reticence. It didn’t feel like he should, and truthfully, he was restless—he needed to work, wanted to work, because when he worked, he didn’t think about other things—but at the same time, he really was grateful to be away from it and just sitting. Existing. Being out and just _existing_ in the world was nice, sometimes. Unbothered, unobligated, just there and away from oneself.

“How do you deal with it?” Eren asked after a while, twisting his coffee stick to and fro between pinched fingers.

Levi slid him a look. It seemed like Eren knew, but didn’t want to meet it just yet. Stared outside. A little more presence in his eyes now. Finally he looked back, without really moving at all. Just his fingers, twisting. Twisting. A tired softness about him, defenseless and distracted.

“With what?” Levi murmured.

“Her.” Eren shrugged limply. “Your mom, being gone.”

Something in Levi’s chest locked up—it was a strange feeling, like the gears that kept every man running just suddenly halted. No grinding together, just a jolt of a stop, a little sway from inertia and then—stuck. He cleared his throat before it could go chalky. What a fucking day for Eren to ask.

January 14th, 1992 and Uncle Kenny in the school office, waiting. Quiet for once. No one said anything about why Levi was leaving school early. Hadn’t even made it to lunch yet. And it was raining harder than usual, windshield wipers squealing across Kenny’s cracked glass, and there were police cars outside the house on 7th, no lights flashing, an ambulance, no lights flashing, and neighbors across the street smoked cigarettes, watching, and Uncle Kenny just stopped the car by the mailbox, gripped the parking brake, stared hard at nothing, really, lips sealed tight together, until he turned his face a little to look Levi in the eye because he knew Levi was staring at him— _I don’t know how else to tell you, kid, but she didn’t wake up this morning_.

Windshield wipers. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Little spray of road water as someone drove by. The sigh of car heat, rushing from dashboard vents. Neil Young on the radio. _The king is gone, but he’s not forgotten. This is the story of Johnny Rotten…_ And Levi didn’t really know what to say, or what to think, and he just let out a long, slow breath, eyes stinging, and he felt a little bad that this was not something that felt like it shouldn’t have happened—

“I was just wondering,” Eren said, the words almost falling one over the other even for as small and apologetic as they were. His eyes slipped around Levi like he suddenly regretted the question. “I just—you know, I don’t know how to, sometimes. I don’t know if I’m doing it right.”

“For being such a stubborn, irreverent little shit, you really worry about doing things _right_ , don’t you?” Levi muttered. He dropped his head into his hand, not really rubbing at it so much as just grinding his palm against his temple.

Eren smiled a little, face pinched.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Levi said tightly.

Eren’s smile fell; something flashed in his eyes but he was hardly as combative as usual. “Why?”

“Because I don’t know how to answer you, that’s why,” Levi cut back. He was not pleased with the way his heart pounded sickly in his throat. It was never like this. He did not like this. He hadn’t gotten this torn up about the whole thing in—fuck, _years_. So why was it suddenly so hard to even talk about it?  

Carla. It had to be because something about Carla dying had latched onto it and opened it all up again. Had to be.

“You don’t know how to answer me, or you don’t know how to deal with it?” Eren demanded.

“I don’t _know_ how I deal with it.” Levi rolled his eyes behind his fingers. “And I really don’t want to talk about it, I said.”

“Maybe you haven’t dealt with it, and that’s why you can’t talk about it,” Eren suggested tartly. It wasn’t vindictive; it was just that tactless spill of words typical of him, emotion moving faster than mind.

Levi dropped his hands to the bar, fixing Eren with a pointed look. “Is this just your frustrating ability to tune into my bad days, or is Erwin running you down on my entire life story behind my back?”

Eren scowled, a little wrinkle of the nose, curl of the lip. He looked mildly guilty—but more at a loss. “What? No. What are you talking about?” 

Levi rapped his knuckles on the bar a few times, watching Eren darkly. He cleared his throat again. Eren had no idea. He really didn’t.

“Your timing’s fucked up,” he said, voice flat and a little rough at the edges. But he was trying to be civil, anyway, flicker of a smile that appeared probably about as forced as it felt. “It’s been twenty-four years, today.”

Eren recoiled, hollow look of shock whittling him down to sixteen again. Fourteen. Twelve. The Eren Levi had known a long time ago. Young and bewildered by the world’s injustice.

“Fuck,” he said, below a short breath, and it sounded like _I’m so sorry_.

“You didn’t know,” Levi said through his teeth. He shrugged with a dismissive wag of the hand. “I just…”

He couldn’t tell Eren _his_ mother’s death had Frankensteined the grief a little. Eren would take that as his own responsibility, Levi knew it, and it wasn’t his to take at all. So Levi just trailed off, shrugged again. Let the hush fall back down around them.

Eren slid down off the bar chair and started shoving back into his coat and scarf.

Levi threw him a dubious look. “Well, okay,” he said. “I’m not mad at you, you don’t have to fuck off.”

Eren shook his head, eyes wide and wild. “No, I’m not. We need to go back, I want to go somewhere else but we have to drive. It’s too far.”

Dread flared in Levi’s gut, but it settled soon enough, leadened and faded. He didn’t want to go anywhere. This was good enough. He was done. Over it. God damn it, Eren.

“Fine,” Levi muttered. He pulled his coat off his chair with a heavy sigh. He wasn’t going to get any work done tonight, was he?

Though—somewhere inside, he kind of appreciated it.

* * *

“Kirkland,” Levi echoed with a little curve of reservation, brow knotted, almost cocked.  

“Yeah,” Eren replied, leaning forward to check the one-way street around a parallel parker as he pulled out of the garage and onto the street.

_Really don’t want to talk about it._

Rush hour had dwindled and even though it wasn’t empty, the freeway felt still and quiet. Puddles of light, neighborhoods hanging above the concrete on one side, buildings scraping the sky on the other. Past the Space Needle, up north towards campus—towards Ravenna, where the house was, Eren’s house, his mom’s house, veering off right at the edge of the U-District and onto the 520 floating bridge over to Kirkland.

_Twenty-four years today._

“You look tired,” Levi observed, elbow propped on the passenger side door. He sat slumped with his knees sagged apart and one foot jumping restlessly, gently, under the dash.

Eren could have said the same. He just smiled, guilty as charged, bit his lip and drew a breath in through his teeth. “Yeah,” he sighed. “I am. I went to bed late and got up early.”

“We overwork ourselves, don’t we?”

“For sure.”

Marina Park was relatively empty, the wide gazebo barely dusted with the afternoon’s brief snowfall and aglow with yellow light as Eren led the way up from the parking lot to the water.

“You ever been here?” he asked, turning, walking half-backwards, gesturing around that with his hands in his pockets was a little more flapping weakly with his elbows. 

Levi shook his head and zipped his coat up all the way, pushed his scarf to his nose.

“My mom loved this park,” Eren explained. “In the summer, she’d bring me and Armin here to play while she sat around and read and ‘got sun.’”  

The park cradled Moss Bay in a wide-stretching crescent moon of concrete steps, descending into the water. Eren scraped a bit of snow out of the way and plopped down on the next-to-lowest. Levi’s heels scratched against the pavement as he took a seat two steps up. There it was again, the same quiet from Café Ladro.

Shared loneliness. Like that time on the couch. The clinging. The tears. Levi, touching his body, slipping life back into it with every grasp, every kiss—

Light danced on the surface of the bay from the park, from the city, from parts of Seattle across the water. Eren thought maybe he could see some stars, just faint little pinpricks, January air tingling against his ears and nose as he craned his head back and tried to find them. The park felt different now. Especially at night. Felt like somewhere without time. A little surreal. He liked it a lot. It was like the whole world stopped just for then and there.

“I told you she overdosed,” Levi said.

Eren turned around quickly with a whisper of coat and denim, grit of concrete below his shoes.

 _I don’t know how I deal with it_.

“Levi, you don’t have to tell me,” he said firmly, below the clouds of his breath.

Across the park, children’s shouts and laughter drifted along on the bayside wind. A family out for an evening walk with the dogs, a couple on a bench laughing and talking behind the light of a cell phone.

Levi leaned forward against his knees, arms crossed loosely at his thighs. He raised his brows and smiled thinly at Eren, as if to say too bad, so sad.

_Twenty-four years…_

“It’s weird,” he went on with a little sigh, swinging a hand up to run his gloved hand through his hair, rub idly at the back of his neck. His eyes moved off over the water. “It’s like—even though I was so young, and really didn’t _know_ what was going on, I did. I knew. She wasn’t a bad person, and she wasn’t a bad mom, either. Nobody can say otherwise. I’m her son. She was my mom. If I say she wasn’t a bad mom, she wasn’t a bad mom.”

“Fair,” Eren murmured. He curled up at the side of the step behind him, propped against tightly crossed arms.

“I’ll say it.” Levi shook his head and raised his brows again, far more emotive than his voice betrayed. “I’m not ashamed and I’m not a sugar-coater. She slept with people for money and she was hooked on Percs. Her choices, not mine, not anyone else’s. She didn’t go to college because of me, my grandparents didn’t actually forgive her for me or my dad ditching after a year until they found out how she paid bills, and _then_ they tried to make up for the bullshit way they’d treated her and Kenny.”

“Your uncle?”

Levi nodded. He was quiet a moment, lost in thought it seemed. It didn’t feel like he returned yet but he said, “I loved her a lot. I knew I made her happy. I loved her as my mother, but I loved her from a distance, too, because I…”

He trailed off into a quizzical frown, like the words to come next had caught him off guard. His eyes moved across the surface of the water, quick, sharp. He shrugged. He said calmly, and with relief, as if this were the first time he’d found the way to put it:

“I guess I always sort of had the feeling I wasn’t going to have her forever.”

A sick chill zipped down Eren’s spine. The words weren’t particularly emotional—but they just _hit_. Scraped him raw and hollow inside. He couldn’t imagine that. He could never imagine having known he wouldn’t have his mother forever—he still couldn’t fully accept sometimes that he didn’t have her forever anymore.

He turned back to the water, arms tightening where they knotted against his knees. His throat ached. His heart jumped, fluttered high in his chest. He didn’t want to cry. Why was he going to cry? For himself? His mom? Levi, Levi’s mom? Don’t cry. He tried to blink it off, breathe through it. It stung his nose to do that. Everything was so different. This park. The house. Writing. Sadness. Happiness. Anger. Work. His social life. Holidays. Quiet. The past. The present. The future. His sex life. His father. Himself—

His heart pounded. The tears had already gathered; they were hot in his eyes, thick. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. Damn it. He was overtired. That was what it was. He was…

Rustling, movement.

Levi scooted down two steps to sit beside him. Eren bristled, staring wide-eyed at their silhouettes shivering across the water, shivering like his breath shivered though he tried to keep it steady. Levi was quiet. Just sat there. Elbows on his knees, fingers laced loosely where his hands dangled between them. Hot, tense silence.

Eren snuck a quick glance. Levi looked back. The wind tousled dark hair in and out of his face. He raised his brows, smiled faintly—such a broken little smile, barely there but _there_ , smiling like he was so much wiser, like he was looking at Eren and mourning the fact that Eren had to feel what he felt. His eyes were glassy and distant, too, and—oh, holy shit. Oh—Eren couldn’t handle it if Levi cried. Levi Ackerman, his mother’s friend. Levi Ackerman, the good man. Grown man. Confident, lofty, sharp-eyed, smooth-tongued, mysterious and cool and dangerously attractive inexplicable constant in his life, Levi Ackerman, a real person who was capable of crying—

Eren tilted to the side, head bumping Levi’s shoulder. And he cried because everything just felt so _different_ , but—it was odd—how that didn’t necessarily feel like a completely horrible thing.  

* * *

Eren didn’t cry for very long. Thank God it was not a frantic sort of breakdown, just the kind of purging tears that were equally as deep-rooted, equally as painful, but strangely soundless and pure. Heartbroken. Eyes squeezed shut. Face twisted, mouth bitten into a stubborn line. His body trembled fever hot against Levi’s arm, elbow propped on Levi’s thigh. The other arm hooked around his face—not embarrassed, not hiding, just…letting it out.

Levi’s hands ached from the cold even through his gloves. Eren shifted around so he could tuck them into his pockets.

The quiet was nice.

Levi wasn’t sure how long he spaced out. Just watching the way the water moved, listening to it clap, frozen and crystalline, against concrete. The park emptied out. Eren’s breaths were even again, his body still—

He was asleep.

_Bed late, up early…_

Dozing, not really on Levi’s shoulder anymore so much as propped against the side of his chest, reclined back against him with his arms crossed and one foot close to slipping off the edge of the lower step. His face was so soft and lovely to look at, empty like that. The dark of his lashes. The curve of his lip. Utterly at rest. Gentle shift of his body when he inhaled. For a moment, there was a flash of Carla’s son, the only Eren Levi had known until the last few months. That volatile boyishness, young and beautiful in the way of young men who had yet to lose a little real hope in the world. Just a flash. And then it was just—Eren.

Looking at Eren was like looking at art, Levi thought. The kind of rich, otherworldly paintings that hung in the Renaissance wing of the art museum, the sumptuous stretch and curve of marble gods and goddesses—though maybe Eren was more like a Waterhouse Hylas. Just this perfect little creature lost somewhere between man and myth, so pleasing to the eyes and so full of fire on the inside. _Lover_. What had he said the other day? _Squish_? Lover sounded so much better than _squish_. Felt a bit more fitting. Physical but personal. Pleasure and no demand for romance. Oh, Jesus Christ, had he really just used the _like a Greek god_ cliché?

A little shiver of unease crept along with a heartbeat or two.

Eren, so fragile tonight, so vulnerable through and through. Breathing softly, smoothly. Sitting together at the water’s edge under the night sky.

But—stop, this wasn’t a romantic moment. It was a personal moment. Intimate, sure. Mutual heartache. Understanding. A place to feel things safely. And Eren was just a lonely kid who needed somewhere to be safe, and that was Levi for some reason. Maybe because he was connected to Carla. Maybe because of some other deeply psychological trigger. Maybe rebound. Maybe just because Eren liked him as a person, now that he knew him—

Or Eren was falling in love with him.

Levi’s eyes slid down to him. No tension in his face. Slow, gentle breaths. Head slipping towards one shoulder. Eren, in his bed on New Year’s. _Where do we go from here?_ Looking at him with those fiery eyes, that unrivaled feeling—or…the dooming enchantment of falling hard.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Eren was too young, too pragmatic, too full of passion. Too hot-blooded. Maybe this was going to fall apart.

Unless he’d fallen long before Levi could have ever imagined it, or feared it, and Eren just hadn’t known it.

But—it wasn’t that Levi was afraid of _being_ loved.

He didn’t not want to be loved. He liked knowing he was loved. Who didn’t want to be loved? He just didn’t want it in ways like—like Eren’s fucking formula, those cloying, overwhelming romantic gestures, romantic connotations, the self-gratifying shows of affection and the emotional bribery. He didn’t want to be forced to feel it back. To be _in love_ instead of _loved_.

_Someone who wants you to love him even though he won’t give you what you want—what you need—_

Levi stared out at the water. His shoulders hurt—he was tense. He could feel the knots coiling up along his spine. He tried to relax, but he didn’t want Eren to slip off his shoulder onto the concrete, either.

He was not fucking afraid of Eren falling in love with him.

He was afraid of using up someone he cared about. Stealing the love they could give and get back somewhere else, letting them throw it all at him until there was nothing left to give. How greedy was that, how terrible, to let someone be in love with him for—for nothing. Not even be allowed to show it. Eren probably wouldn’t even realize he’d fallen for him until it was too late, and then he would resent Levi. He would blame him.

_Are you prepared for that?_

No, stop. He could do this. They could.

 _My responsibility_.

Levi was ready to try it again, he decided.

_What do you want? That’s the important part here._

This kind of relationship— _lovers_.

_Look who thinks I’ll fall head over heels anyway…_

Levi’s brow knotted.

 _Up to me, not you_.

Levi clenched his teeth against the cold and nudged Eren’s knee with his own. “Wake up,” he husked. “And give me your keys. You’re too tired to drive.”

Eren jumped. “What?” he breathed frantically, disoriented. “No, I’m resting my eyes.”

“You were asleep.”

“I was resting my fucking eyes, dick.”

Levi smiled dryly as Eren fumbled away from him, rubbed blearily at his face and cold nose. “Give me your keys,” Levi said again, climbing to his feet and brushing himself off. Eren held the keys up, still huddled there on the steps. Groggy, puffy eyes. Pouty frown. Like he felt bad for dragging Levi out here, for the awkward, unexpected heart to heart. That look like enchantment, but this time more like—admiration. Appreciation. Dependence.

And nothing about it made Levi paranoid or uncomfortable.

So maybe there was a very large chance Eren was going to fall in love with him. But it occurred to Levi then—he felt it—that it would be in a way all his own that Levi really could not return even if he wanted to. He was Eren’s mother’s friend. Somewhere safe. Someone to take care of him. Someone connected to when things were normal. That was just fucked up enough not to feel oppressive, surely. Just desperate enough, attached in just such a visceral way. It could work. It would work.

 _Greedy_.

“Can we go now?” Eren grumbled, like it was his idea in the first place. “I’m fucking freezing.”

* * *

 _Five years ago_.

“I don’t want to use you up—”

Erwin’s deep blue eyes flickered up to catch Levi’s, across the little iron-wrought table on the sidewalk. Nice bayside breeze, rush of nearby thoroughfares—buses, cars—and at the hill that sloped to the water, a railroad crossing outside the local Bellingham coffee shop they’d found while exploring the college town’s “downtown,” waiting for Hanji and Mike to get back from Mike’s brother’s.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Erwin insisted, voice flat, calm. But he was far from indifferent.  

Levi shrugged roughly, casting his eyes to their reflection in the coffee shop glass instead. Erwin, almost too big for the little table, finger-combed blond hair catching the wind here and there. 

“I can’t give you what you give me,” Levi said quickly, before he couldn’t at all. “And you don’t feel like you satisfy me. That’s not fair of me. You’re going to give me all of you until you have nothing left, and I can’t let you do that.”

“You _know_ , I’ve _told you_ ,” Erwin argued slowly, firmly, apologetically, “that I _want_ to give you everything, in whatever way I can. I told you, I get it—the aromantic thing, I do—and I’m okay with it—”

“Yeah, two years ago. But it’s hurting you now, Erwin.”

Erwin’s stare held his; Levi looked back as honestly as he could. Just—staring. No words. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to do this. He would be fine if they broke things off. The committed relationship thing.

It was just that he was terrified of hurting Erwin more than he already had, whether Erwin said he didn’t or not.

“We’re older,” Levi murmured. “We need different things in life than we used to. We’re not twenty-one anymore, big guy. It’s taking a toll on you. I know it is.”

Erwin shifted around in his chair, leaned back to cross his arms, one leg over the other. “All right,” he agreed reluctantly, with a curt little nod and a clearing of the throat. “But you know, we’ve taken breaks before and ended up back together. New York, remember?”

“And I don’t know if we should keep doing that.” Levi’s heart bottomed out to say it. But he felt far less guilty now than he did when he couldn’t satisfy the parts of Erwin that deserved satisfaction. _I love you, Levi. I don’t care, I love you._

Something darkened Erwin’s face—protectiveness. Self-hatred. Why? Why did he have to do that, take all the blame on himself?

“I’m ruining you, Erwin,” Levi snapped, brow knotting, practically pleading Erwin to resent him just a little bit. He was allowed to. It was okay. “I—love you in a very certain way, but I am not in love with you. You deserve to have someone fall in love with you instead of someone who—who wants you to love him even though he won’t give you what _you_ want. What you _need_ —”

“You know that’s not going to change how I feel about you,” Erwin gritted out. He raised his brows with his head lowered and a pointed, dark blue glance. Sounded almost vindictive. Forgiving, but unrepentant. There it was. He _was_ frustrated. Levi wanted to say, _Yes, feel that way, it’s valid, you have the right, be mad at me._

“That’s fine,” he sighed gently instead, face pinching again. Something like a smile. Relieved. Thankful. There was a train coming; the railroad crossing flashed and wailed. “And that’s why I don’t want us to date anymore, even if you think it’s okay how it is. I refuse to use you up until I don’t even have _you_ anymore. I feel—selfish. Greedy. I don’t want you to hate me. I don’t want to lose my best friend.”

That seemed to strike Erwin somewhere deep—pluck the right nerve, jolt something through him. But quickly his eyes darkened like a cloud passing over the moon and he studied Levi silently. Unreadable. Stoic. Unyielding.

 _Don’t want to lose my best friend_.

The train rattled past, slow but still deafening, issuing its ear-ringing cry now and again as it drifted farther and farther way. Erwin’s eyes did not waver from Levi’s. Levi struggled to keep up with the stare-down without looking too guilty.  

And then Erwin smiled a bit, just a perk of the mouth. The kind of cool smile that under certain circumstances zapped the wiring of Levi’s sex drive into immediate action even though he knew that behind that mysterious little smirk was a maelstrom of thought and emotion Erwin might never speak aloud.

“Okay,” Erwin husked. “Let’s do it, then.” The train was just an echo. “Let’s…stop.”

* * *

_Present._

“What the _fuck_ —?”

On the other side of the grad office, Thomas jumped with a rattle of his mouse and dropped his pen. Jean just barely flinched, but was otherwise rather unperturbed, far more accustomed to Eren’s random outbursts than poor Wagner. Hand folded half across his mouth, he slid Eren a glance and cocked a brow.

“What the fuck?” Eren said again, this time less outrage and more bewildered whisper to himself. His brow knotted as he leaned closer to his computer, eyes shooting to and fro across the screen.

_Unread e-mail: ackerman@hawthorne.com <Subject: Fw: mmarie@paradigmrom.com Re: Questions for you>_

_Hello Levi,_

_As I specialize only in romance novels and I’m confident in Eren’s currently published books—working with “E. Rogue” and his mother has been some of the most fun and most successful years of my career—I want the best for him. So I would absolutely be comfortable if he wanted to pursue a second agent for non-smut (LOL) under his real name, and would not be offended at all if he wished to terminate our agreement in the future._

_M. Marie_

Eren hit the back button and swerved to the next e-mail, heart pounding so hard at his throat, he could barely swallow.

_Unread e-mail: ackerman@hawthorne.com <Subject: Fw: eldjinn@wslit.com Re: Rec – Possible Acquisition>_

_Levi –_

_Have him send me the official query letter along with the manuscript as a PDF? REQUESTED in the subject line. Talk later._

_Eld Jinn, Wesley and Schultz Lit, New York_

“Eren,” Jean pressed, patiently. “What?”

Eren slammed his hands to the desk, shoving up and out of his chair. Heart, still thundering. Breathless. Dizzy. Alkaline tang of adrenaline, tasted like blood, like biting his tongue, cresting on his teeth as his pulse jumped. He could not figure out what, exactly, he felt—just that he was shocked, and confused, and horrified, and it all mashed up together into a livid incoherence.  

 “Just—nothing!” Eren clawed his things together and wrestled into his coat. “Jean, log out for me,” he seethed, almost tripping on his trailing scarf. He let the office door slam shut on Jean’s pinched look of confusion and concern.

“Woah,” Thomas grunted. “Who shit in his coffee today.”

* * *

_Unread e-mail: isabelmagnolia@hbgusa.com <Subject: Re: New York?>_

_Acquisition editor open in March._

_Isabel Magnolia, Publicity Assistant, Hachette Books_

“Did you have a meeting scheduled?”

“No, I’m not a client, I live with—well, not really live, but he knew my—it’s not important, okay, I—I know him, it’s fast, I promise.”

Levi knew the voice, but for a moment, it didn’t quite sink in that he was _hearing_ it. Or that it was absolutely out of place in his office. But by the time that registered and he snapped his head up with deep confusion scoring his face, Eren was already in the open door of his office, standing there all windblown and mad-looking. Eyes wide and wild in a cold, vicious way—

“What the _hell_ did you do?” he hissed.

Levi threw down his pen but didn’t push back from his desk, just sat there against one elbow, other hand poised atop his computer mouse. Utterly at a loss and very irritated by the surprise embarrassment of Eren in his office, he asked in a low, careful voice, “What are you _doing_ here?”

“I asked my question first,” Eren spat.

_ackerman@hawthorne.com <Subject: Fw: mmarie@paradigmrom.com Re: Questions for you>_

Right. That.

Levi cleared his throat and frowned tightly, flashing a pointed glance. “Eren, go wait in the front,” he muttered. “I’ll be out in a second to talk. This is my office, for fuck’s sake—”

“I don’t want to _talk_ ,” Eren sneered, scathing, eyes sparking like flint as he spit the words out. “I want to know what the fuck all that shit means. The shit you sent me. The _e-mails_.”

Levi rose from his chair roughly and Eren shifted, too, countered every movement like a cornered animal ready to lunge. He even swayed back into the hall when Levi drew close, but not far enough for Levi to miss his arm. He hooked his fingers in Eren’s coat sleeve and dragged him into the office, closing the door. He stood his ground. Eren did, too—his eyes burned into him. Levi returned the hard look.

“Why did you do that?” Eren demanded again, in a lower voice this time, almost like he was out of breath. Charged. Electric with anger.  

 _Why did you do that?_ Send Eld the sample of WISTERIA. Ask Eren’s current agent what she felt about representing work outside romance novels. Send Eld a carefully scanned PDF of the full. Slip the manuscript in its binder back into Eren’s bookshelf. Forward the e-mails to Eren. Surprise.

“Because I care?” Levi snapped back, unyielding and unashamed but feeling a tiny bit heavy.  

Eren scoffed, shoulders bunching up as if he flinched away from that explanation. The words threw themselves out of his mouth before the sound was even through. “Invading my privacy and going behind my back? How is that caring, Levi? Jesus fuck, because you _care_. Fuck you!”

Levi gestured tightly with one hand, eyes wide: _Shut the fuck up_. His office wasn’t soundproof, for the love of God. “I wanted to show you—”

Eren’s eyes blazed, nose wrinkled in disgust. Lofty up-and-down look of furious disapproval. “So first it’s my _mom_ getting me in,” he growled, “and now I’m _fucking_ someone for it. That’s great!” He threw his hands up, burst of cold laughter. “Don’t need talent anymore, right? Never!”

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t think you’d be so ungrateful!” Levi spat through his teeth, hand tightening on the doorknob. “That’s _why_ I did it—I wanted to make it up to you—”

Eren snorted, clearly ready to lunge at the _ungrateful_ comment, but then the words seemed to disappear and he shot Levi a new scornful look, this time mildly uncertain. “Make what up to me?”

_Make what up to me?_

That Levi sort of felt like it was his fault Eren was miserable and stuck in romance novels. That it was Levi who’d reviewed his first one, anyway. Levi who’d helped get him in the door at Carla’s request. Levi who’d gotten him tangled up in his own personal mess, expected him to give up everything he knew just because he wanted him but offered nothing in reward—

“You told me once,” Levi hissed, “that if you were Hemingway, you’d be writing what you want to write. You don’t want to write romance novels anymore. _You_ said that. I wanted to show you that you can write what you _want_ , Eren, Jesus fucking Christ!”

Eren reared back—eye of the storm—just a hollow stare of guilty shock. Almost like that day at Hunny’s. _You don’t have to be such a dick_. Almost like that. Just almost. And then the eye passed.

“Well, I don’t need you to do things like that for me!” He looked near to furious tears. His voice cracked as if the words leapt out before it was ready, clamoring one over the other, louder, louder. “Fuck, Levi! Never mind _love_ , you don’t even know how to do _nice things_ the right way!” He cut off as if he’d run out of breath, standing back so his eyes could roam Levi head to toe again. Like he didn’t know who he was again. He fixed Levi’s gaze finally in that cold, wide-eyed way in which he’d shown up in the door in the first place. Humiliated. Violated. Shocked. Terrified.

“I can’t fucking believe you did this to me, Levi,” he hissed.

_Don’t even know how to do nice things the right way._

There was a hollow little fear in Levi of being selfish.  

Was it possible to be that cruel and not even realize it—for cruelty to emerge from the very desperation to avoid it? To—play on insecurities to keep someone in his life, make sure they would keep throwing love away at him on his terms and never theirs. Not because he meant harm; no, absolutely opposite. Because he didn’t know what else to do. Because he did not know how to do nice things the right way.  

_Someone who wants you to love him even though he won’t give you…_

No. That was bullshit. He’d sent Eld Eren’s manuscript because Eren deserved to know he could do what he wanted. Levi knew the book was good. This was his job, the book was fucking _good_ , and he wanted Eren. He did. In his way, he wanted him. Fuck. He was invested. Like years ago—Erwin in a University muscle tee sweatshirt, finger-combed nineties blond, strong jawed dimpled grin, _Stop saying you love me_. He’d done it to take care of Eren because he wanted Eren to want to be in his life.

That was the closest he could get to normal, anyway.

_Can’t do nice things—_

Levi jerked the office door open. Jaw tight, face drawn. He could feel how dark his glance was as he threw it Eren’s way without lifting his head. Raised his brows. _We done here?_ that look said. He knew it. And he knew Eren would think he was being an asshole, that he didn’t understand, whatever other insecurities popped up. But it was so much easier to Levi to withdraw, retreat inwards and just stop caring for the moment. He’d figure this out later.

“Can you—?” he began flatly, but Eren interrupted him.

“ _No_ ,” he blurted, predictably adamant and childish in a way that was somewhat admirable, if a little daunting. Eren being Eren. “You’re not kicking me out, that’s not fair, _I’m_ the one leaving your office! My choice. I decided it. Not you.” 

He stormed out only a little calmer than he’d blown in—and promptly stumbled to avoid collision with Nifa the same way Nifa stumbled to avoid collision with him. Levi covered his face with one hand, elbow propped on the other arm. God fucking damn it.

Folders tucked against one side, a coffee thermos in the other hand, Nifa’s rimless glasses danced on her little rabbit nose as she squinted at Eren in quick appraisal.

“Excuse me,” Eren choked out over his shoulder, sheepishly, the collision barely interrupting his march out.

“Boyfriend bring your lunch, Levi?” Nifa teased without a smile, and Levi knew the commentary was far from focused on his open homosexuality and more about how this was very obviously not a pleasant visit and the whole office was fully aware.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Levi corrected, flashing her a warning glance through his fingers, as somewhere out of sight near the front of the suite, Eren called, “ _Not at all!_ Unf—oh—”

“There’s a wall there,” the intern giggled from her desk.

“Yeah, I see that—uh, have a good day.”

“You, too!”

The suite door swung shut just a bit harder than gently. 

Nifa tapped a finger on her thermos, raised her brows and slowly slid her eyes over to Levi. Quiet in the suite. Ticking of a clock. Rush of the world outside the building. Petra’s work playlist echoing softly from her corner office.

“Levi, come here!”

Ah, there it was. Levi sighed very heavily, scrubbed his hands down his face then folded them loosely at the back of his neck as he made his way down the hall to Shadis’s office, Hawthorne Lit senior agent, just around the corner from the intern’s desk.  

* * *

At first he was too mad to think about being alone in the house.

His mom’s house. His house. Eren didn’t even leave a note for when Levi got home, just threw most of his things together and slammed the door on an apartment that felt suffocatingly quiet and empty.

Not that his own house was much better, but it was a different kind of quiet and empty.

Never mind that he didn’t leave Levi’s key or anything, or that he forgot clothes in the dryer and some of his bathroom stuff, which he told himself was _not_ because he intended to go back but because he’d left in such a furious flurry.

From: LEVI

_I know, I fucked up._

Eren made himself dinner in the little kitchen that didn’t really smell like his mother or his home anymore. Unused for almost three months. Stuffy with heat turned on for the first time in weeks and the usual unoccupied Seattle house smell. A little moldy, a little old. The place was built in the forties, anyway.

He was kind of freaked out by how hard it was to sleep in an empty house, let alone his own bedroom.

Different. Everything was different.

To: LEVI

_yeah, my turn to need space_

He brought in the mail, he watched TV, he went to class, he went to Armin’s until late, he hung out at Tea Republik until late, he nudged half-packed boxes around but didn’t really touch them. He worked on grading on the couch in a living room that felt like a time warp, felt like something unreal, because it was just his now, but it wasn’t his, it was his mother’s, and whenever he remembered to be, he was on the edge of his seat, just waiting for someone to join him even though there was no one there to join him— 

Eren packed his things again, the duffel bag and the satchel and the backpack. Double checked to make sure he hadn’t missed anything vital. He couldn’t stay here anymore. He felt like a ghost. He didn’t feel real. It was too weird and it felt wrong, like he was trespassing on—something.

“You don’t have your key under the mat anymore,” Eren said when Jean opened his apartment door.

It was after nine o’clock at night; the light of the TV bounced around a half shadowy living room.

Jean’s brow knotted. Eren caught the apprehension, quick but obvious. “Yeah,” he replied, and he didn’t have to say it because they both already knew that if the key wasn’t under the mat, Marco had a spare.

“Can I hang out for a little bit?” Eren mumbled, trying to mask how embarrassed he was to sound so miserable. Probably looked it, too.

“Yeah, sure, of course,” Jean said. No hesitation. He swung his door open more and offered a little smile, brows raised. All lilac-blond and V-neck tee, a pair of black lounge pants with the Star Wars logo running up one leg. “What’s up? You okay?”

It was nicer than Eren had prepared for, the way there was nothing awkward about it. Lying on Jean’s couch, feet propped on the arm of it, his head against Jean’s leg and Jean’s free arm flopped across his chest where Eren could fiddle with his little leather and hemp wristlets, that meaningless silver ring on his middle finger. The way Eren rambled and Jean listened.

“I’m just lonely,” he said first, avoiding Jean’s glance.

“I couldn’t be at home tonight,” he added with a bit less indignation.

“I’m okay, but randomly, I just miss her a lot,” he said after a long moment, the words scratching along his raw throat and his teeth digging into his lip to keep his mouth from twisting.

Jean’s fingers trailed up and down his arm, absently, comfortingly, tickling faintly through the sleeve of his sweatshirt, like only a guy who was both an ex and a friend could do in a moment of innocent intimacy that didn’t seem right in the scheme of romance but—honestly—felt too real and uncomplicated to analyze or denounce.

“So… He’s not my boyfriend,” Eren conceded. If he didn’t say something about it, anything, the words and the frustration would burn him up inside like a witch at the stake. “But he’s _kind of_ my boyfriend. It’s really complicated. He’s aromantic. Er, grey-romantic. He doesn’t fall in love. Don’t tell me that sounds stupid, because it’s not, and it’s real. It’s a long story. And we’re dating with that agreement, that we’re together but it’s not going to be romantic.”

“Mm-hmm…” Jean hummed low and patient, reaching up without looking to pull Eren’s hand from his mouth, stop him from biting at his nails or the skin around them. Eren kept Jean’s hand hostage, flipped it over to prod at his fingertips and the insides of his knuckles, push at the meat of his thumb and trace the lines of his palm in a restless substitution.

“That’s not why I don’t want you guys to meet him,” Eren said in a half-whisper.

“Ow,” Jean grunted, because Eren pinched the skin under his ring.

“Sorry.” Eren cleared his throat. “I don’t want you to meet him because he’s, uh—okay. Fuck it. He’s my mom’s old editor, her friend. Levi Ackerman. Remember him? From the funeral?”

Jean was quiet, hand turning gently this way and that to help Eren’s fiddling. Maybe because he didn’t remember. Maybe because he did— _Jean, I’m going to go get a drink and catch up with my mom’s friend, her old editor_ —and it was not difficult to put two and two together.

“I think so?” Jean hummed. “Maybe.”

“I’m fucking pissed at him right now,” Eren muttered bitterly. He dropped Jean’s hand and heaved a sigh, crossing his arms. “So, ‘tl-dr’ I’m doing that one step up from sleeping on the couch thing until I cool off. Sorry I chose your place.”

 _Because I care_ , Levi had said.

“What’d he do?” Jean asked, wiggling around for the television remote. Sort of like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to ask, but was also obligated.   

“He sent one of my manuscripts around without telling me.” The words felt as ragged as they sounded, all threadbare and fraying. “Not, you know, the smut books—a real book. One of my side projects. Without asking me, without me even giving it to him. He just sent it around. You know how I am about that. I’m not fucking ready to send stuff out.”

 _Wanted to make it up to you_ , he’d said, and Eren still couldn’t figure out what, exactly, he needed to make up for.

“Yeah, that’s fucked up,” Jean snapped. The quiet was like a held breath, as if Jean wasn’t sure if Eren wanted agreement or disagreement. Eren shrugged roughly and let his attention drift back to the TV.

“It’s him,” Jean said below his breath. “It has to be.”

“Wait List is her son,” Eren theorized.

“You think so?”

“Fuck yeah. Maybe. I don’t care, Frank is my favorite.”

“Okay, but Laurel.”

“You just think she’s cute, I bet.”

Jean laughed.

“I’m tired of harlequins,” Eren husked after a moment, below the noise of a bright, swirling commercial. “And I mean, that’s okay. Right? I’m allowed.”

“Yeah, that’s fucking okay, you’re allowed.” Jean said it with a little lilt as though he couldn’t believe he had to confirm that. He dropped his arm down on Eren’s chest again, the other thrown idly across the back of the couch.

He was almost asleep when Marco got back from work. Listened to the door open, the keys jangle, the minor confusion at Eren basically cuddled up with his boyfriend in the light of the TV.

“Hey,” Jean barely whispered somewhere over his head.

“Hi,” Marco whispered back. Rustle of his coat coming off, his shoes. “Um, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, babe.” Jean’s voice was louder where Eren could hear it through his body, washing down low and smooth. “He’s just got a lot going on right now, it’s okay. I’ll grab him a pillow and blanket before we go to bed.”

 

 

**end xiv.**


	15. The Thunder Breaks When I Open My Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You’ve just got this all figured out, don’t you?" Jean scoffed. Eren grinned, flashing him a devious glance. "Yeah." // In New York, alone was more like disappearing. // "He doesn’t have to be special," Carla said, and it seemed more to Levi that it was something she had decided firmly for herself, not necessarily something she was telling him. // It was just that he was terrified he didn’t know how to be alone anymore. // "Fuck, you should see what he does to a bottle of wine," Levi muttered under his breath—caught Erwin’s flick of an amused glance and rolled into a dimpled smirk that looked like it belonged on someone years younger and far more mischievous. // The light clicked off and the door squeaked just a bit as Levi came out. Eren looked up at him from the bed, elbows propped on his knees. "Hi," he whispered. "Will you kiss me?" // "You want me to go on the trip with you? Are you joking? Are you crazy?" // Eren opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what it was that he had to say. And Levi just looked at him, patient. Sad, for some reason. Ran a careful thumb across Eren’s lower lip, smiling faintly at the way his mouth moved below it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowowow what a long chapter for you guys, i’m so sorry lol. edits for my publisher have consumed me the last 3 weeks and i have nothing written for next week and class starts monday, i mean everything’s planned out so we’ll see how this goes hahaha, song pairing – **sleeping at last** | _neptune_ // **sleeping wolf** | _come and get me_
> 
> ***
> 
> hey guys
> 
> i just wanted to say i am so so so sorry it’s taking me so long to update. MS edits for my pub house were a lot more intense than i expected, and it's left me so drained head wise. with that and school starting again, it's proven really really really difficult for me to get back into the swing of things and so not helping anxiety levels, lol.
> 
> so anyway, i'm really sorry for the brief pause that ended up becoming a longer pause. this fic will be finished, just a lot more slowly than i thought it would be. i am working really hard to get the next update done and i appreciate every single one of you so much.

* * *

_Four months ago_.

“You left your toothbrush at my house again.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You want me to bring it to work tomorrow?”

Eren’s face scrunched up in a skeptical little smile, brow knotted, as he cut a glance at Jean from the corner of his eye. “No,” he said, “that’s dumb. I got a second one. It’s fine. That can just be, you know, my spare at your place.”

Jean shrugged, nodded. He said nothing about the _his place_ toothbrush. Just leaned back against the brick of the Ravenna Tudor along the porch with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his coat. His eyes lingered on Eren, little perk of a tired smile at the corner of his mouth. “We’re still on for Thursday night, right?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Eren mirrored him, leaned back propped against stair railing, kicking his heel up and down the edge of the top step. “Also, you know, I’m free more than two nights a week.”

Jean’s smile didn’t falter, but his brow knotted—his eyes jumped Eren head to toe again, quick, face half-cast in porch light. “Yeah…?”

Eren waited. Waited a minute more, raising his brows. He obviously didn’t get it. “Jean, we only see each other like, twice a week.”

Jean snorted, shifting his weight to the other foot, tossing lilac blond hair out of his eyes with a jerk of the chin only for the autumn evening to blow it right back in the way. “Eren, we see each other in the office _every_ _day_. And Tea Republik. And—”

“Yeah, in public and hanging out with friends.” With a shrug of the shoulders, Eren nodded grumpily right into shaking his head. “I mean _dates_ , Jean. We need to have more _dates_. And not the whole, I come over late and we get drunk and watch stupid movies and have sex. Romantic dating _dates_.”

Jean frowned, eyes moving around the dark yard, the streetlight puddles on the damp street. Like he was honestly clueless as to why Eren was so adamant. The neighborhood was so dead and quiet this late, just the whisper of drizzling midnight rain, the trees shivering. Finally Jean sighed. He leaned forward with a scrape of his heel on the porch and wound his arms around Eren, reeled him in up against his chest despite Eren’s not helping at all. Eren just frowned up at him, hands in his pockets.

“You never let me come over,” Jean countered, voice low and dejected. Deflecting.  

Eren smirked, a twist of the mouth in a tight line. “Yeah,” he teased, but they both knew it wasn’t really a joke, “you think I’m going to bring home a guy I’m only casually seeing?”

Jean returned the smile—faintly, uncertainly. Waiting. On edge. Seemed like he was hoping Eren wasn’t going to say it because he knew Eren was going to say it and Eren knew Jean knew he was going to say it—

“So when are you going to ask me to be your actual boyfriend? Officially?” Eren propped his elbows on Jean’s arms so he could curl his fingers in and out of Jean’s coat collar, washed in the yellow of the porch light. His mom’s hanging plants, the little wire and wood welcome sign near the door. “It’s been almost four months, like, you’re late, man. I keep accidentally leaving shit at your house and you leave your key for me and I’m wearing your shirts—remember? Last Sunday, I didn’t expect to stay? And I needed clean clothes before class and you gave me your flannel and I put it on and it was a little big for me and I didn’t have my pants on yet and you were like, ‘Fuck, I don’t have time for morning sex, but God, I want you right now,’ remember? We’re kissing in public, and holding hands, and having regular sex, and yet we’re still only having _two dates a week_ —”

Jean’s face soured; he uttered a frustrated little sound, tongue to the roof of the mouth. “God, are you really so upset about that?” he pressed. “Fine. I’ll try to find another night to take you out. I’m busy and you’re busy, you know? But I’ll fucking work it out.”

Eren scowled. “Don’t snap at me, Jean, I’m just pointing it out—some things we do are casual, some things are serious, like—what casual-official rule are we going to break next, do you want me to tell you I love you, you want to stop using condoms while we’re still only _seeing each other_ , not officially _dating_?” He waved his hands. “Woo, get crazy!”

“Oh my God, Eren…” Jean swatted his hands down out of such close proximity to his face. Looked humiliated like there was anyone around to overhear the inappropriateness. He was quiet, just holding Eren against his chest. Looking down, at anything but him. Eren curled his fingers in the collar of Jean’s shirt instead, ran his fingertips along the ridge of his collarbone. Leaned in, pressed a little kiss to the skin there, cold from the prying night.

Jean sighed. “It’s fine,” he murmured, craning away a bit because apparently Eren’s nose tickled his neck, “you’re right. I guess I’m just feeling like a really shitty boyfriend now because I can’t take you out more than two nights a week.”

Relief tingled through Eren like the damp chill tingled at his ears. “If we didn’t work in the same office,” he suggested, “I’d bring you lunch and that’d be like a mini-date, at least. Two and a half dates a week.”

Jean smiled, wilting between Eren and the side of the house. Giving in. Guilty. Apologetic. “Cute,” he mumbled. “Very cute, babe. I mean, you could still bring me lunch if you wanted to.” He winked.

“Yeah, funny.” Eren scoffed. “It’s not the same. It’s supposed to be a surprise, hey, I’m here, you miss me? I’m thinking of you. Kind of thing.”

“You’ve just got this all figured out, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” He grinned, flashing Jean a devious glance. “Start thinking about it. You asked me out by writing on my coffee cup, which was fucking adorable, so you’re going to have to step it up when you ask me to go serious and official.”

The smile lingered on Jean’s face like he didn’t remember it was there, peering at Eren with his head tipped back against the brick. He sighed one last time, beckoned Eren forth with a lift of the chin. Eren craned in for the waiting kiss—slow, tender, sweet and idle desire. Jean held his head gently in his hands, mouth so soft and warm despite the nip of autumn in the night, pavement glittering from the rain, yard gilded by fallen leaves. He tugged Eren closed; Eren leaned face first, in Jean’s palms, his body followed until he draped along Jean’s chest, his shoulders.

Jean’s hands slid down to Eren’s waist. He broke away, turned his nose to Eren’s ear.

“Stop worrying about it,” he husked. But he didn’t say why. It irritated Eren. He was getting a little impatient now. He frowned at Jean from his shoulder, a little too hard to be a pout. He wasn’t _mad_ , he just…

Cold fucking feet. Maybe Jean was scared of commitment. Maybe he was self-conscious. Maybe he just didn’t want to be serious at all with anyone. Almost four months. Casually seeing each other almost four months and no more than two dates a week and he kept acting like he didn’t hear a word when Eren asked about it.

The front door unlocked from the inside, opened just a crack behind the screen door. His mom peeked out from a dark living room, brows raised, in just her pajamas.

Eren pushed away from Jean and uttered a flustered laugh. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said. “I’m coming. Night, Jean.”

Jean nodded respectfully to Eren’s mom, murmured, “Night, babe,” as he managed to kiss Eren’s ear at the same time that he hopped down the steps and headed off to his car at the curb.

Eren’s mom clucked her tongue. Now Eren pouted, heaving open the screen door and brushing past her feeling very much like a dumb teenager. “What?” he grumbled. “I know, I’m later than I said I would be…” 

* * *

_Present._

Eren was back.

Somehow Levi could tell just by the feel of the apartment when he came home—and then, of course, a glimpse of the kid’s things tossed at the closet office door, the absence of the throw blanket from the couch, the low tinny sound of a television show streaming on a computer. 

Levi leaned forward a little, squinting into the spare bedroom from around the corner as he left his keys and wiggled out of his coat. Yes—Eren, curled up there with heavy eyes, watching something on his laptop.

“Hey,” Levi greeted plainly.

“Hey,” Eren called back with a little wave of a hand still knotted up in the throw blanket.

Levi wandered over to tug the curtains closed on the window behind his desk. He didn’t mind the patio door blinds being open; he liked the way sunrise bled through them in the morning, gray and silky. And now—Saturday night, just the shivering smear of lights and shadows from the city outside.

Levi drifted back to the spare room, stopped to lean there in the doorway with arms crossed, one foot kicked up against the other, socked toes curling idly on the instep. He issued a huff of a breath to get some hair out of his face. It had been windy, outside the bar with Hanji and Erwin, under the lights of the Smith Tower and Pioneer Square. Tingling warm to be inside again, a bit scratchy-eyed from cigarette smoke and sleepy-eyed from a drink or two.

“You back for good?” he asked flatly, and not at all resentfully. 

Eren shrugged a little, looking up with those tired hazel eyes. Physically exhausted. Mentally drained. Levi could tell the difference in Eren but tonight it was both.

“I don’t know what ‘for good’ is,” he apologized on a sigh.

_How long is he staying?_

He was watching _The Office_. Levi recognized that clever writing and dry dialogue.

_I don’t care._

He nodded idly, tongue to the roof of the mouth in a sigh trying so hard and failing harder to be friendly sarcasm.

“Me, either,” he murmured.

“I’m back for the night, I guess,” Eren suggested.

A smile twitched at Levi’s mouth, tickled by that—they both knew it wasn’t just _for the night_. And clearly, by the feel in the air between them, neither of them wanted to admit they didn’t mind, let alone did they want to try to mind. With a limp shrug, Levi pushed off the doorway and drummed one hand against the other arm. He offered a tight little smile, raising his brows.

“Well, I’m glad,” he said flatly, and maybe another man in another situation might have been fed up with the temporary housemate by now. But Levi was not that man, and it was not that situation.

* * *

Eren slipped out of the room smooth and quiet as a shadow, somewhere in Levi’s periphery—drifted closer and climbed up on the couch beside him where Levi sat with his legs outstretched and TV remote in reach. Parts of a _Twilight Zone_ marathon had been on the DVR for a while now, waiting for the night he actually left work alone.

Eren crawled over and wound his arms around him in a pitiful little embrace, slow, sort of shy and unsure, almost like a kid fresh out of a midnight nightmare looking for promises it wasn’t real. Knees, pushing into Levi’s arm. Face buried into his shoulder, pressed to the couch. His hair tickled Levi’s neck.

He’d been thinking about it, long and hard. Levi could tell. He could feel it radiating off his skin like a fever. The manuscript. What he’d said to him. What Levi had said. What any of it meant in the moment and what it meant now.

Levi edged his arm out from between them and draped it over the back of the couch—didn’t drop it down around Eren, but propped his elbow there and let his hand fall to run his fingertips in zigzags along the back of Eren’s neck. Hot, soft skin, the crown of his spine.

Eren let out a sigh like he’d been holding his breath, body finally just folding into Levi’s. His arms, his legs, bare feet. The curve of his back as he rested against him—origami of sweet flesh and cotton shirt and messy dark hair.

Commercial. Levi didn’t fast forward. He watched without really watching, eyes hooded. His chest felt a little tight, deep and calm. He murmured, “You don’t have to send the manuscript if you don’t want to.”

Without moving, Eren mumbled somewhere down at his shoulder, “I know.”

And Levi could tell in the way he breathed soft and slow against him that he was forgiven.

After a moment, Eren unwound himself from his side, slouched there with some space between them. One bent leg sagged lazily out so his bouncing knee tapped against Levi’s thigh. Levi reached over without looking, laid his hand on Eren’s knee to still it.

“Hey,” Eren said. “I got something from one of my mom’s writer friends, for Christmas. I think my dad was in on it, that’s why he kept getting the mail obsessively, but—her friend sent me a check. Uh, a pretty huge check. And a plane ticket to Paris, for spring break.”

He spoke fast and heedless. Not looking at Levi even as Levi stared at him. He was nervous.

“He said he and my mom were planning a little writing vacation, but because of—what happened—he bought _me_ a ticket instead, said I’m supposed to use the other half of the money for someone to go with me. It’s in the card he sent and the memo on the check, ‘For travel buddy only!’ He said I have to, for my mom. So…”

Levi raised his brows. That definitely sounded like Carla, all dreamy and romantic in that old world sort of way. Writing vacation in Europe. She knew—she’d _known_ how to live to be happy. And Levi had always admired that. Envied it. Tried to emulate it when she’d given him advice. There’d just been something about her—something, warm and light and surprising—sister, like the distant sort of sister already off at school or something, back now and again to check on a baby brother, which was such an odd feeling, because Levi had never encountered it until Carla, and he’d shied away from it at first but…

_I hope I didn’t do something wrong._

_What do you mean, Carla?_

_Eren. Writing, too. Like me. He doesn’t have to be special. He can be normal if he wants, he doesn’t have to write, too. I don’t want him to feel like he has to be special…_

“So I was going to ask you on Christmas,” Eren went on, voice hard like he had to drag the words out against their will, “but then I was pissed at you, so I didn’t, and then I was going to at New Year’s, but I forgot—I was going to ask if you wanted to go with me. When I go. If I go. Early spring.” 

Something in Levi’s chest gave a sick little pinch, sounded a chord down through his spine until it fizzled out in his fingertips. 

“You want _me_ to go to _Europe_ with you?” he sputtered, flashing Eren a pointed look. Dimpled brow. Confused twist of a smile, dismissive disbelief. _Are you joking?_ that look said. _Are you crazy?_

Eren returned the defensive glance, indignant and mildly offended. “Well, yeah,” he scoffed. “I know it sounds like it—I mean, come on, Paris—but it’s not a romantic thing, I’m not going to ask you to marry me on top of the Eiffel Tower or—”

Levi’s half-laugh wilted into a pinch of a smile, brow knotting.

“I know that,” he husked. “That’s not what I thought at all.”

Flustered, subdued, Eren insisted, “It’s just, you know, a thank you for all you’ve done and I don’t know who the fuck else to invite. My ex-boyfriend? My dad? Yeah, good times. And I can’t take Armin and not Mikasa, or Mikasa and not Armin. Besides, it’s…”

He shrugged, glumly.

“It would have been my mom’s ticket,” he said. “So it seems right if you went. Don’t get me wrong, I thought it was way over the top when my dad gave me the card, I was like, seriously? This is insane. But the more I thought about, it’s like, you know what? Getting away from everything for a long weekend sounds really nice. I bet _you_ need a break as much as I do, so—does that make sense?”

A dull throb of self-consciousness, of doubt and guilt.

“No, it makes sense. And I’m not against it.” Levi rubbed at his face with one hand, let it sag there against his temple where he peeked at Eren through his fingers. “It just…surprised me,” he explained, voice low and reserved. “That you’d want me to go with you.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Eren’s brow knotted as he looked at Levi in the rawest of ways.

Right, why wouldn’t Eren invite the man with whom he was in a relationship, unorthodox as it was. It was only natural. _Lover._ The man to whom he clung for some sense of normalcy, maybe, some subconscious association with the times when everything was okay, perhaps. The man with whom he felt safest, apparently, some kind of cathartic place—he didn’t want to go with anyone else because he just wanted to be left alone, and being alone around Levi was easier than being alone around everyone else. Of course he’d ask Levi to go with him.

And even if it _was_ inherently romantic—something hardwired into Eren that only short circuited in Levi—it was unwitting. Like that night in Marina Park. Like the way Eren had looked at him New Year’s Eve. That earnest, indiscriminate sort of burning that under the right circumstances might end up compressing into some sort of love, but for now…

It was nothing that felt _fake_.

_Would have been my mom. Thought it seemed right._

There was still a place in Levi that was mildly apprehensive—gently resistant—because he wasn’t entirely convinced he deserved loyalty like that.

_Don’t even know how to do nice things right!_

“Fuck,” Levi sighed, pushing both hands up his face and over his head to fold together at the back of his neck, against the couch. He offered Eren a crooked little smile, not quite fully confident but not too blue, either. “All I did was make you a pretend office in my storage closet.” 

Eren melted into a laugh, short, light, relieved. Eyes at half-mast, he leaned back into the couch, too. “Shut up, you’ve done so much more than that,” he said. “Seriously. And—here’s how I see it in my head. We’ll go, we’ll get an Airbnb or something, we’ll share a room but we’re definitely not going to be attached at the hip because I really want to write a lot, and when I’m in the zone, like, go away. You know that. I want to try a bunch of different bars—oh, and take the train somewhere, just because I can—and if you want to do all that, too, cool, but if you don’t… Whatever. Go on one of those walks where you don’t use a map and just kind of get lost in a good way. Spend all day in a café or go to museums. Go to the bar, too. It’s a _vacation_. We’ll just do whatever the fuck we feel like.”

“I mean…” Levi wagged one foot against the other, propped on the ottoman. “That does sound pretty relaxing. But—I don’t know, you’re starting to convince me…”

“Think about it, we just go out and spend all day by ourselves—yeah, relaxing—and then—I want to get some _real_ fucking wine, the good shit—and we can get drunk and have crazy, impulsive sex that’s going to be so hot because—come on, who can say they’ve had crazy hot sex in _Europe?_ Not many people. That’s who.”

“Eren, it’s not impulsive if you plan it.”

“Okay, but _think_ about it, Levi.”

Levi smiled, rolling his eyes kindly before just closing them for a moment and settling back against his hands. Foot wagging, back and forth, back and forth.

Eren, writing his little heart out. Levi, one of those walks without a map. Just wandering on his own, alone and surrounded by the busy world, a million other lives swirling around him while he just drifted along and _existed_. He really did love that, sometimes. And yes—get a good bottle of wine and share the whole thing, straight from the bottle, make out, draw it out, drive each other crazy with pleasure because that was exactly what lovers were supposed to do on vacation in a beautiful, old city, right? French bar runs for sure. Sit down somewhere with his own work, kick back on the balcony—if their lodgings had a balcony—with a cigarette and a drink, and Eren, too, and talk until sunrise or sleep, whichever came first, like he used to years ago with Erwin, and their neighbor Yahmur, Farlan and Hanji…

Levi issued a little sigh of surrender. “All right,” he said, hands falling to his lap. “Let me think about it. I have to look at my work schedule and vacation time.”

“Yeah,” Eren said, unfolding himself from the couch. “Got it.”

“Also, there’s one condition.”

Eren stopped, halfway up and just sort of hunched there over the ottoman, giving Levi a patient but suspicious look. “What?” he pressed.

Levi shrugged, reaching for the TV remote. Tried to bite back a little grin, teeth grazing his lower lip. “The only thing you’re allowed to work on is the ‘Wisteria’ series.”

Eren bristled, eyes wide as he gawked at him, insecure but—shyly grateful.  

“Yeah,” he said quickly, under his breath. “Yeah, of course. Good night.”

Levi watched him go until the spare bedroom door closed, smiling faintly to himself.

* * *

It wasn’t the usual cranky old people dinner, as Levi and his friends called it—just Erwin over for a few beers and pizza from the organic, vegan-friendly place. Levi had given him the heads-up. Eren went to Tea Republik to meet up with everyone, hang out on the Ave a tiny bit.   

He tried not to draw too much attention as he came back inside, dropping his key to the door-side table, surveying the apartment from the corner of his eye as he put up his coat. Nothing nosy, just to gauge where, exactly, in the night’s visit he’d arrived.

The living room was empty. Pizza box, couple of empty beer bottles. A movie paused on the television and some papers scattered across the ottoman. Looked like work stuff. Brisk January night slipped in through the cracked patio door, carrying the sweet bite of social cigarette smoke, the tiny buzz of conversation. The notes of Levi’s voice. Erwin, laughing.

Eren put his things in the closet office and went to the spare room to ditch his jeans.

He wouldn’t lie to himself; Erwin over made him a little nervous. Okay, yes, he’d gone with Levi to Erwin’s New Year’s party, and he’d talked to Erwin privately about Levi’s birthday, and they’d all played cards Christmas evening—but Erwin was still something of an enigma, just The Guy Whose Car He Hit and The Guy Who Was There When They Argued and The Guy Who Dated Levi For a Long Time. Or so Eren presumed.

Fuck no, Eren didn’t feel like he needed to impress the guy. Nor did he feel like he needed to establish his territory in the apartment as Levi’s current non-romantic not-boyfriend. Sex-friend? Partner. Whatever. And he didn’t have the urge to prove his worth as the newest addition to Levi’s inner circle or anything like that, it was just…

He kind of respected the guy, in a very coy and inexplicable way, like anyone might respect a tall, strong-jawed, classically handsome sort of man who wore a silver wristwatch and smelled like the Armani part of the men’s cologne wall in Sephora, which was the only place Eren could really loiter when they were at the mall and Mikasa wanted to detour inside the makeup store.

Plus, Eren didn’t want to get in the way. It was Levi’s friendship, not his, and he kind of liked being able to watch it from the sidelines—to learn the parts of him that weren’t yet his. Maybe would never be his. And that was okay.

Eren tugged the door to the spare room halfway shut behind him as Levi and Erwin came back inside.

“There’s pizza left,” Levi said.

“Oh, I…” Eren let the words die out on his lower lip, a tentative smile pinching at his mouth. He’d eaten with everyone down on the Ave, at one of those Vietnamese places that practically lined the block in both directions from Tea Republik. Then again, it had just been pho soup, and he hadn’t even eaten all of it.

“Thanks,” he said as he slid a small slice into the microwave.

“Mm,” Levi hummed in reply. “Take a beer, too.”

“Oh, I’m okay.”

“Not a beer person?” Erwin asked, one arm thrown over the back of the couch and a smile offered Eren’s way, brows raised.

“I mean, I drink beer.”

“But you said that more like a liquor person.”

“Fuck, you should see what he does to a bottle of wine,” Levi muttered under his breath—caught Erwin’s flick of an amused glance and rolled into a dimpled smirk that looked like it belonged on someone years younger and far more mischievous.

That—that was what it was. Around his friends, Levi became someone else. His younger self. Or something. It was hard to put into words, but Eren saw it. And he really liked it.

Eren issued a sharp scoff. “Thanks, Levi.”

“I’m kidding.”

“Look,” Erwin mediated with a raise of the hand above the couch with a crooked grin and light in the eye that somehow went very well with his Burberry sweatshirt like somehow the sweatshirt went well with the blue work scrubs. “I have quite a few stories about me and a bottle of wine, okay.”

“Oh my God,” Levi sighed conspiratorially without looking up from some of the papers on the ottoman that he shuffled around, searching for something in particular, “do you remember that time in school, you were so messed up, you slept practically making out with the toilet? I had to pee but you were in the way, and you told me to use your sink—”

“Holy shit, clinicals _sucked_ the next day.” Erwin grabbed up his beer, unwinding one finger from the neck of it to jab at Levi on the way to his mouth. “However, you were far from sober, too, my friend.”

“Yeah, that’s why I actually peed in your sink.” Levi stared at Erwin gravely for a moment—and then they both broke down into laughter at once.

Eren ate his little slice of pizza from the island counter, watching mutely in deep appreciation.

“What are you looking for?” Erwin murmured.

Levi shrugged, poking papers around with tented fingers. “Nothing,” he breathed in reply, voice low, soft. “Just… Oh, here we go. I got it.”

“Sales numbers?”

“Yeah, from last year.”

“Hawthorne’s, or yours?”

“Both, I compile them with listing and distribution, too.”

Eren slipped his plate into the dishwasher and nudged the door shut with a hip. He kept forgetting to start his laundry. Laundry, then work. Erwin and Levi moved back to the patio, door cracked again—shudder of blinds, bits and pieces of conversation humming.

“New York?”

Eren stopped at the island counter with his basket of dirty clothes propped against his side. _New York?_ Well, that was louder than the rest of their cigarette chat. Upturn of uncertain surprise. Erwin’s voice.

“ _New York_ ,” Erwin said again, really stressing the pair of syllables under a light chuckle of disbelief. “I thought you tried that already.”

Fingers curled in the holes of the laundry basket, Eren wedged it between himself and the counter, leaning forward to try to catch more words.

“Not editing…Random House…”

“Yeah, but…”

“…opening in March.”

“I mean, it’s…what would…didn’t like New York?”

“You see my dilemma?”

Gentle pause. Probably for cigarette drags.

“I don’t know…” Levi, murmuring too low and fast to catch it all. “…you to be mad at me…think about going, you know?”

“I wouldn’t be mad at you.”

More murmuring from Levi, soft but rushed, just the dips and edges of blurred words. 

“Well, I’m excited for you,” Erwin said, ditching the quiet talk. “It’s a once in a lifetime offer, Levi.”

“But it’s not an offer,” Levi insisted with an impatient huff of a sigh. “Isabel just threw my name…isn’t even open to fill until March.”

“Either way…”

Another pause. Scrape of shifting steps on the patio. Rattle of blinds on the patio door—Eren couldn’t move. He stood white knuckling the edge of the laundry basket, eyes wide, as Erwin stepped inside with his shoulders bunched up, hissing in a breath and rubbing his bare hands together vigorously. Levi came with the rest of the cold night air, swinging the door shut swiftly. In an instant, his eyes caught Eren’s—stayed there, sharp and unwavering. That typical Levi composure, intent and intense and privately contained.

He knew Eren had listened.

Eren stared back, heart pounding in a slow, hard way. It was odd—it wasn’t panic, and it wasn’t frustration. He just felt heavy all of a sudden, heavy and very confused.  

“You got a job in New York?” he asked, a bit harder and a bit louder than intended.

Erwin cut Levi a look; Levi’s face tightened into something that might have been a grown man pout if not for the guilty, guarded flash of his eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Eren snapped. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Relax, kiddo,” Levi husked as he drifted over to pluck his beer up from the ottoman, take a short drink and explain over the hiss of his swallow, “it’s an invitation to _apply_. I haven’t been offered anything, I haven’t accepted anything, Isabel just mentioned me and I’m only thinking about it.”

 _Thinking about it_.

Eren could tell the nonchalance was a front. Levi was not as indifferent about it as he wanted everyone to think. Eren at least knew him well enough to know better than that. He was definitely that kind of stubbornly independent guy, keep everything on the down low until he’d worked it out on his own, or simply couldn’t. And it wasn’t a malicious act, it wasn’t meant to be secretive. But—

A job in New York.

Eren pushed away from the counter and moved off to the laundry nook, still feeling rather at a loss. “Congrats,” he said, raising his brows. “That’s awesome.”

* * *

_Seven years ago._

Maybe Levi had known from the start he couldn’t stay in New York. Being alone was different there. It was terrifying. It made him feel too small and insignificant, not like being alone at home, which felt like being small but also still a thread in the fabric of things. Existing. In New York, _alone_ was more like _disappearing_.

He gave himself two weeks to really get settled back in again, back in Seattle, before he let Erwin and Hanji throw the Welcome Back party they’d been planning since he told them he was leaving New York. A handful of friends and old coworkers, white wine, red wine, champagne, the counter lined like a buffet with hors d’oeuvres.

It was only mildly overwhelming, but after his first—large—glass of wine, Levi really appreciated it.

“Welcome back!” Carla barely made it through the front door before she threw her arms around Levi in a tight, rocking, laughing hug, all wavy dark hair and red peacoat, arriving just an hour fashionably late. “Oh!” she cried through the noise of the full apartment, pulling away quickly so as not to crush the little bouquet of flowers she’d brought.

Levi laughed, taking the flowers and her purse so she could wiggle out of her coat. “Thank you, Carla, thanks,” he said, leaning in to reciprocate her cheek-to-cheek kiss. “Come on, there’s like, a glass left of the Spokane merlot before we open the Piedmont…”

Eren leaned around from behind Carla a little, a hesitant peek where he lingered as her shadow in the open doorway. Mess of dark hair, wide hazel eyes, that smooth face and seventeen-year-old litheness under a parka coat that left him strung somewhere confusing between hardened adulthood and childhood fragile.   

Levi’s smile faltered, faded a twitch.

In the kitchen, Carla whisper-mouthed over her glass of wine, “Sorry.” Her brow knotted, a repentant smile pinching her mouth. “I told him he didn’t have to come, but he said he wanted to say ‘welcome back,’ too.”

Levi shrugged, cradling his own drink close to his mouth, elbow propped on a folded arm—Eren sat awkwardly in the corner of the living room, outside the buzz and motion of everyone else. Knee bouncing, glued to his cell phone if he wasn’t watching Erwin intently, covertly. _Who’s that? My ex-boyfriend…_ Like he was deeply, adolescently fascinated by being in the company of two real, living, breathing, walking, talking openly gay men.

“It’s okay,” Levi sighed around his wine.

“I just hope it’s not the wrong thing to do,” Carla said after a moment, leaning back against the counter next to him, eyes roaming the rest of the party slowly.

“What do you mean?” 

“Eren.” Carla tapped a finger on her glass. “Writing, too. Like me.”

Levi looked to her—waited for her to look back. Which she did, eventually, smiling a little and raising her brows. She shrugged limply.

“He doesn’t have to be special,” she said, and it seemed more to Levi that it was something she had decided firmly for herself, not necessarily something she was telling him. “He can be normal if he wants. He doesn’t have to write, too. I don’t want him to feel like he has to be special—”

Eren sprang up from the loveseat and skirted wide round everyone else, strutting into the kitchen with his eyes fixed on his mother as if he worried about letting them drift anywhere else.

“I’m going to go,” he announced.  

 _Special_. Levi watched as Carla fetched her car keys for Eren, mouth bitten in a contemplative line. The kid _was_ special, though. He was Carla’s son. That made him special. He was a little shit, but he had that spark of magic in him, like Carla. That bottled intensity, those owl eyes. And to be a force of nature like that was certainly something special, at least in Levi’s opinion.  

Eren left with the car keys and instructions to pick his mother up at midnight.

“Well,” Levi said after the front door closed. “I’ll still look at his stuff, Carla. And we can go from there.”

He was in his room looking for his slippers so he could go outside for a cigarette when Erwin found him.

“Hey,” Erwin said, shrugging the door closed about halfway and slipping both hands into his pockets. “I just wanted to let you know—I’m waiting to hear back from a couple different rentals, so I’ll be out of here as soon as I can be.”

Levi shrugged, too, climbing up from his hands and knees with his slippers out from under the bed and swinging on hooked fingers.

_So what am I supposed to do with the apartment when you go?_

_I mean, we added your name to my lease already, so…_

“No rush,” he said. “It’s cool, Smith.” 

“I missed you,” Erwin replied, like it was just part of the normal conversation.

Levi’s arm sagged down to his side, slippers dangling from his fingers. His brow knotted, mouth fell gently open though there was nothing there to say. He’d missed Erwin, too, but he was…

Afraid, still. Confused and afraid of hurting him like he’d hurt him before. When he couldn’t satisfy him. When he couldn’t explain why he hated the things Erwin did for him.

But _fuck_ , he just wanted to kiss the guy. Grab him by the beautiful jaw and drag him down into his mouth. God, never in his life had he ever imagined he’d actually still be friends with, let alone still attracted to, a boyfriend from college. _Boyfriend_. The word felt so clunky, so hard to say even in his mind for some reason. But he felt so much worse when he just said, _My friend._

_I’m going to be thousands of miles away. I can’t handle the long distance thing._

Erwin smiled at him from the bedroom door, because he knew. Kind of proudly, kind of sadly.

_Don’t feel like you’re obligated to celibacy just because I’m not around. Let’s take a break. For now._

_And when the break’s over…you’ll still be in New York._

Levi leaned back against the wall, peering at Erwin with hooded eyes. Dropped his slippers and slid his feet into them and crossed his arms, tipped his head back. Smiled back, just a little.

_Whatever happens, happens, big guy. You’re my best friend either way. But I think we need a break._

_Your loss, babe._

Erwin returned the suggestive glance, the tentative smirk. Such relief, such thankfulness—carved out those handsome dimples Levi loved to see.

“Welcome home,” Erwin husked from the doorway.

“Fuck,” Levi choked out below his breath, laughing in utter disappointment with himself. “I want to have sex with you so bad right now.”

Erwin’s smirk softened. “Well, lucky for you,” he said, “I’m on a break with my boyfriend, and he said I’m not obligated to celibacy.”

* * *

_Present._

There was an electrical storm in Eren’s head. Thoughts, jolting this way, that. Snapping into each other. Breaking off from each other. Too fast to hold on to.

He stared past his laptop at nothing in general, really. Just staring, curled up on the spare bed in the spare room with its sort of generic wall hanging or two, the nice comforter that was probably secondhand from Levi’s room, the tall dresser with the scratched corners and the dish of potpourri, thick window drapes keeping out the downtown lights stretching all the way from curtain rod to carpet.

The apartment was quiet. Erwin had gone home. Eren had helped Levi pick up. Levi went to his room. Eren went to his.

What the fuck was going to happen if Levi took the job and moved to New York?

 _March_ , he’d said a few times, Eren was sure of it. _March_. Or something.

Eren wished he could say he couldn’t figure out what he was feeling, but he couldn’t lie to himself. He was pissed. He felt a little bit betrayed that Levi hadn’t told him, that he’d overheard it, that—had Levi ever actually intended to tell him, or was he just going to— _Hey, Eren, I’m moving to New York, so you’ll have to go now…_

What was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to go? Okay. Sure, home.

Thinking about it made his chest tighten up. He’d be alone. He didn’t want to be alone. He couldn’t be mad at Levi for leaving him alone because it wasn’t Levi’s fault he didn’t want to be alone. But how the fuck did Levi even dare consider it? Everything was fine the way it was. Nothing needed to change. He had a good job here, across the lake in Bellevue. He had a really nice apartment. He had his friends, his family near enough by.

_Don’t need to spend every minute of every day together, fuck that._

If Levi left, that would be the end of it, wouldn’t it?  

The only thing that made them really relevant to one another was being in each other’s company, right, so that connection would be stretched far too thin with the distance. He wouldn’t matter to Levi anymore. Non-romantic dating didn’t sound like something that could withstand a three-hour time and three-thousand-mile distance. Even the regular romance formula barely stood a chance to that.

_Starting to mean something to me…_

His mom had still mattered even though she and Levi didn’t see each other all the time. But Eren didn’t know if he could handle that. What it would mean if he missed him. What it would be like trying to fill yet another empty space.

 _Don’t fall in love with me_.

It was just that he was terrified he didn’t know how to be alone anymore.

Eren threw himself off the bed and out of the room.  

Levi’s door was closed. Eren pressed carefully up against it, cheek and palms and racing heart. Listened. He could hear Levi brushing his teeth. His fingers curled on the doorknob—he hesitated for just a breath. 

The bathroom door was open a bit, light slanting out across Eren’s bare feet as he eased down to sit on the edge of the bed.

The light clicked off and the door squeaked just a bit as Levi came out only to stop short and meet Eren’s eyes without lifting his head. His hand slowed down as it combed through his hair and finally settled at the back of his neck. Shirtless, just a pair of plaid lounge pants and that curling, twisting koi tattoo. Flicker of his skin as he swung his hand down to prop on his hip, nighttime shadows shifting where abdomen met ribs.

Eren looked up at him from the bed, elbows propped on his knees.

“Hi,” he whispered. “Will you kiss me?”

Levi frowned softly and turned his head a bit as if he didn’t understand, peering at Eren through the hair that fell across one brow.

Somewhere, a clock ticking. The rev and unnecessarily long roar of a car engine down below the apartment as someone blew down the street. The neighbors’ wind chimes.

In a slow, smooth stride, Levi crossed over to the bed, stooped and lifted Eren’s chin with a knuckle or two so he could press their mouths together in a flat, inconsequential kiss. His hand lingered at his throat as he pulled away, squinting down at him like in the kiss he’d tasted everything storming through Eren’s head.

Eren reached up—draped his arms around Levi’s bare shoulders until his fingers laced at the nape of his neck and he pulled him gently down for another.

Soft, but demanding. Levi didn’t meet him with the same urgency, just kissed back tentatively, slowly, like he wasn’t sure if they should. But he didn’t pull away. He lowered, lowered down until he crouched at the side of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands hanging limp between them as his lips followed Eren’s lead.

Maybe Levi didn’t care tonight. Maybe he was irritated with him and his oversensitivity. Eren broke off with a soft pop of the lower lip, cutting Levi a glance through his lashes to gauge the moment.

Levi only stared back at him, brow still knotted, mouth parted as if for a small breath. Eren could practically feel him thinking, like it was part of the closeness of his body, the taste of his skin lingering. And he looked like he had on Erwin’s balcony, New Year’s Eve.

_Where do we go from here?_

That draw. That cautious but curious sort of desire that seemed like it had a place all its own in the romance plot, that precipitous pause before the dust jacket-film trailer one-liner, but just didn’t quite fit. The strange shade of intimate that came with something like this, that Eren was becoming more and more familiarized with. But tonight it almost felt withdrawn. Careful. Distanced.

God, Levi was so handsome, though. Fucking intoxicating. Eren could stare at him all night, especially with the way the light hit him from across the room and God, he felt so bad for yelling at him the other day. He really did. It wasn’t Levi’s fault. Well, sort of not, but it wasn’t on him that Eren was so afraid of ditching the harlequins because, it was stupid, it felt like ditching the last living piece of his mother—

Eren opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what it was that he had to say.

He _felt_ it, though. Something to be said. Knotting there in his chest. Swelling in him with no words. And Levi just looked at him, patient. Sad, for some reason. Why did he look sad? He ran a careful thumb across Eren’s lower lip, smiling faintly at the way his lip moved below it. His hands moved off to Eren’s wrists, pulling gently.

He dragged him back again—slowly, inch, another inch, without looking away, and Eren didn’t resist, sliding off the edge of the bed and down into Levi’s lap, heart pounding. Fingers, crawling. Breath catching in his throat. Seduced, ho-hum. Levi’s stare just would not abandon his. Heated. Noses bumping, chins tipping this way, that, lips brushing, sighs something like shy gasps closing the distance until—kissing, finally.

Slow at first, as if they’d never kissed before. Tasting. Testing. Tempting. Harder. Forceful, almost, begging for acceptance, swaying, pushing each other back and forth with tongue and mouth and adamant breaths.

_Want me—_

Breath hitching. Hurrying hands. Not searching for anything, just—moving. Feeling. Clutching. The room tilted. Tangled on the bed, feet off the floor. Levi’s hips rocked up. Eren rolled down against them like it was a competition. Shivers skittered down his spine, lurched his heart. It was like that first night. After the funeral. Nothing but them, flinging themselves against each other like waves against the rocks, begging to break past.  

_Need me—_

There was a tension in the twist of Levi’s body, too. Impassioned. Unrelenting. Like an argument—no, an unspoken concession, permission to exorcise the frustration, the worry, the hurt, everything that did not have words to carry it. Vengeful. How dare Levi tear him up inside like this? It wasn’t fair. There it was again, angry at the object of his affection like it was their fault he wanted them the way he did. Spiteful. Levi was _thinking about it_. A job in New York. Well, he’d have this to miss, wouldn’t he?

_I hate you—_

Passed back and forth, from lower lip to tip of tongue to determined fingers, twined knees. And Eren wasn’t sure how to feel about how much it turned him on, this impulsive, sort of aggressive desire. Teasing, biting kisses. Heart racing. Talking with bodies. Raw in the best way. Just sort of colliding.

_Fuck me—_

Levi’s nails dragged down his back, under his shirt. Eren lost a gasp of a moan from the back of his throat, shivered out against the corner of Levi’s mouth. Levi’s hand down his pants, the curl of his bare toes against his ankle. Eren ground his teeth against his lip, trying to keep the next pleased groan at bay. He was dizzy, he rolled over—Levi followed like he was part of the motion, barely a pause in the pace of his hand. He loomed over him, a shadow of tickling hair and warm breath. The shape of him and heat of him so close but so far, sexy torture of dry grinding.

 _Don’t hate me_ —

Levi’s breath rattled sweetly down the shell of his ear. Tension of his middle. Skin flushed fever hot. Low, satisfied growl of desire in the back of his throat as Eren’s hand tightened.

_I love this—_

He didn’t care. Fuck the manuscript, fuck the job, fuck everything. He just wanted to let it all go for a moment. Let Levi flip him over to his back again, assail his chest and his stomach with kisses, nipping kisses, swirling fingers. Hard. Hot. Little bottle of lube rolled off the side of the bed and hit the nightstand before the floor—there was sex, and there was fucking, and then there was _fucking_ and it was almost scary, how deep the craving went, how primal it all was at the core, uncontrollable and indiscriminate. Just this ache inside to break Levi open, be broken open, fall into the pulse of it, dragging fingernails, busy hand, harder. Faster. More. Just fucking lose it.

_I hate this—_

He really didn’t mean to, but he accidentally caught Levi’s eyes. _No lights on, no eye contact, no_ … Levi didn’t look away. And Eren felt like he was burning up inside, deep in his chest, as he clapped both hands over his face and came hard.

 _Don’t leave me_.

 

 

**end ch. xv**


	16. Carve Me Open, Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter clouds, pale and smooth. Screenlock weather notification said 55˚. February 14th. V-Day. // “Oh,” Carla had said, because everyone had heard what Grisha had meant. “No, no, this is my editor. Levi Ackerman.” // Get French drunk here. // Movement from Eren’s careful footsteps sent a paper heart dancing askew. “Damn it,” he whispered. // Fuck here. // The whole world zeroed in on the storm surge of insecurity—like it was stamped across his forehead: EREN’S BOYFRIEND. // Walk here. Drink coffee here. // The door opened and Levi had wobbled out of the way as Eren marched in, stomping gritty galoshes on the entry mat while casting Levi a rather sullen look even for a preteen. // Write here. // Eren stood outside the apartment door, frowning at a picture taped just under the peephole, inkjet home-printout of the Eiffel Tower. “What the fuck?” he said, and tugged it down. // WRITE HERE. // It was really sweet, actually. Flattering and inexplicably significant. Like boyfriend jacket. Like eye contact during sex. Like a first date written on a coffee cup. God, he loved hi—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowowowow here we are!!! i have survived publisher edits and midterms with the flu. thanks everyone for being so patient. i'm really excited to be back at work with this. only a few more chapters now...
> 
> song pairings – **tell no foxx** | _silence_ , **ben hammersley** | _pantomime_ , **silences** | _carve me open_

Levi rolled over onto his stomach and stretched a hand out for the nightstand. The phone charger cord danced as he dragged his phone over to check the time with a swipe and a sigh. Barely a quarter past nine.

He dropped the phone to the bed beside him and folded both arms up under the pillow, half burying his face in all its softest places. There was just something about spreading one’s body around an empty bed, slithering under mounds of cool blankets and curling and uncurling bare toes, digging them into the stretch of the sheets.

Eren was already awake; he could hear him in the kitchen.   

Levi’s eyes slid back to his phone, screen still illuminated in the soft white of a thinly overcast Sunday morning. Winter clouds, pale and smooth. 9:14 now. Screenlock weather notification said 55˚. February 14th.

V-Day.

With another little sigh, Levi rolled out of bed.

Sweatshirt. Bathroom. Face razor tapping. Levi nudged open his bedroom door and leaned there, one arm propped on the other as he brushed his teeth and assessed the Sunday morning in all his rumpled weekend bedhead glory.

Eren was in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher quietly. Fresh coffee. Television on, volume Sunday morning low. Cereal in a mug waiting on the island counter. His own rumpled weekend bedhead glory, pullover sweatshirt. UW. Go Huskies. He noticed Levi and issued a tiny little wave.

“You want coffee?” he asked, pointing.

Levi wandered back to the bathroom to spit toothpaste and wash his mouth out, then drifted over to just lean in his bedroom doorway, head tipped and arms crossed.

It was still weird sometimes, to wake up and have someone else in the apartment. Even weirder on the mornings there _wasn’t_ someone there.

“Is that a no, you want tea?” Eren asked next, pushing the dishwasher closed with his foot because his hands were busy with his cereal.

“Coffee is fine,” Levi murmured.

His eyes followed Eren as he moved, morning routine and tidying routines he’d observed of Levi over the weeks—months, actually—and had apparently just adopted as second nature now. Wipe down the counters, the stove, cereal crumbs. Light sweep. Check the trash. Fold the laundry if need be. Second cup of coffee, dash of creamer. Eren pointed to it—it was for Levi—and wandered over to the couch.

Something about Eren had been a little … different since the New York thing. Gentler. Subdued. More easily flustered.

_Not an offer. Isn’t even open to fill until March._

_You got a job—? Congrats—? That’s awesome—_

Maybe it only seemed so because Levi felt guilty for the kid hearing about Isabel’s networking from the sidelines of a conversation. Opening. Random House. He was projecting his own fears and guilt. Still kind of afraid to think about it in general, fully realizing he’d treated Eren unfairly like a child by not mentioning it. Like he’d been talking with Carla—over coffee—in the dining nook—Eren, ghosting in the periphery, Carla’s _kid_ —that was a habit he didn’t realize he was going to have to break—

Something thickened in Levi’s chest, but he couldn’t say for sure it was dread, or new guilt, or disappointment or the secondhand sadness that came when someone wished so deeply to take heartache from someone who had not yet experienced it.

And they could not, because it was not their right.

Levi cleared his throat. “‘Rick and Morty’ plays on Sunday mornings?” he said.

Eren snorted. “Hulu,” he replied. “This whole time, I didn’t realize you had a PS3.”

Levi smiled faintly, where Eren couldn’t see it. “Well, you know, sometimes cranky old people dinners turn into pretend we’re college kids again and play ‘Resident Evil’ all night.”

Eren cut him a glance—quick glance, candid. Clearly interested in this pearl of information in the worst of ways. He didn’t seem to expect eye contact; flustered, he looked away again. The show flashed away into one of the sponsored ads—a typically sexist and formulaic ad for some jeweler’s Valentine’s Day collaborative special with a flower shop.  

February 14th.

“Just in case anyone forgot to plan anything,” Eren said with an innocent little snicker.

Levi waited.

Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s Day. February 14th. Valentine’s Day.

Was Eren going to bring it up beyond that, or … ? Was he going to crack a joke, ask if Levi had plans, suggest something, be all weird and nervous and poke around to see what aromantic men did on the official day of sappy romance and clichés—

Why did that make _him_ feel so heavy … ?

Eren raised his brows, peeking at Levi from his side of the couch. “You okay?” he asked.

Levi pushed away from the door, nodding curtly, running his tongue along the ridge of his teeth.

“Yeah,” he said. “What are you up to today?”

“Work.” Eren turned around more to watch Levi, elbow propped on the couch. “Not work-work, though. _My_ work. My … the sequel to what you read.” He hesitated, both shy and feebly resentful, as if he feared Levi knowing just how pleased about he was about it. “I think I’m going to go out in a bit, actually. Sometimes when I have a block, it helps to write somewhere outside the house. Then tonight me and Armin are going to Mikasa’s for—”

Eren stopped again, less intentionally this time. Levi glanced over—Eren’s face had pinched like he was reconsidering what he was about to say.

“Uh.” He laughed sheepishly. “Well, it’s a funny tradition—Valentine’s Day dateless movie night … ”

Levi cut a glance Eren’s way, not because he was offended by that— _dateless_ —but because he had not expected Eren to say it with such ease and such ownership.

And he felt a little selfish for it, but he was thankful the tone of Eren’s voice was far from blame.

 _Work_ … _my work_ … _funny tradition_ …

Levi smiled, more thinly this time, and again where Eren couldn’t see it with his back turned to the living room as he got his cup of coffee.

“Sounds like a good day,” he said.

* * *

Ten-some years ago or something like it, the front door of the Jäger Ravenna Tudor—Levi had been putting on his shoes and Carla, organizing the notes she’d taken while they’d discussed her manuscript over rainy day tea, thumbing past neon-colored page tabs and pausing at this or that pencil marking. Footsteps, voices on the front porch. The door opened and Levi wobbled out of the way as Eren marched in, stomping gritty galoshes on the entry mat while casting Levi a rather sullen look even for a preteen. Fingers, peeking out of his toggle-buttoned coat. Between growth spurts, lean but still supple, taller than his soft round face suggested but too small, perhaps, for those fiery eyes.

Grisha Jäger had followed him in, carrying the kid’s backpack and plopping a big hand on his head to ruffle his hair. “Carla,” he’d greeted, wedging in through the half-open door as Eren blocked the way across from Levi. “His homework’s all done, and I got him dinner on the way back … ”

Carla had been flustered, as if embarrassed to have company as her newly separated ex-husband returned their son from a weekend at his house. Nodding, nodding, handing Levi the stack of papers and tucking loose dark hair behind her ears almost compulsively. She’d ushered Eren in out of the way, but he’d just hooked a right and headed for the kitchen door, saying, “Homework’s done, going next door to play video games with Armin.”

And so it had just been them—Grisha, standing there in the dimming evening, holding Eren’s overnight backpack; Carla, hands propped on her ribbed sweater hips; Levi, adjusting his leather satchel on his shoulder after putting away the manuscript edits.  

“Hello … ” Grisha had said, circumspect, and Levi glanced at Carla; she caught his eye almost immediately.

“Oh,” she’d said, because everyone heard what Grisha had _meant_. “No, no, this is my editor, Grisha. Levi Ackerman. You know, with the book agency … ”

Grisha had smiled with a series of gentle creases along his mouth, clearly not fully convinced as he hurried to shake Levi’s hand and cover for his obvious suspicion that he was Carla’s boyfriend. “Levi, yes, nice to meet you, I’m sorry, we haven’t really met before, have we?”

“Nope,” Levi had said, and let Grisha do all the work in the handshake—

In the grocery store downtown, Levi almost dropped a carton of almond milk at the crack of plastic breaking, the frantic, gasping sounds of frustration and surprise as a woman struggled to keep the contents of her red Safeway hand basket from spilling all over the floor after the thing broke at the handle.

Levi hurried over to help her.

“Gosh—thank you—” she sputtered, blushing and embarrassed. 

Levi righted the basket, holding it as she shook out her hands and fixed her hair before lifting the basket to hold before her like a schoolgirl with books. “It’s not a problem.”

“Never had that happen before!”

“Yeah, never—”

“Daina, you like pink daisies, right? Is it less of a surprise if I ask you … ?”

Still on his haunches, Levi leaned to the side, looking straight down the aisle as none other than Grisha fucking Jäger came along their way. Chuckling, carrying a package of coffee, bag of English muffins, tiny rustling bouquet of pink and white daisies …

His smile winked out like a light as his eyes shifted past the woman to Levi. Levi stood slowly and with something of a grimace.

The woman laughed, meekly. “The basket broke,” she sighed, showing Grisha.

The handbasket. Multivitamins. Chocolates. Wine. Fresh vegetables. Paper-wrapped protein from the meat counter. Strawberries. Flowers in Grisha’s hand. Scented lotion. Oh, Jesus Christ—

Levi’s eyes veered up to Grisha as Grisha just stared back, an awkward moment in which it seemed he hoped Levi didn’t recognize him—maybe—or maybe he didn’t recognize Levi right away—the last time they’d spoken had been Christmas, Grisha in his doorway and Eren balancing himself against the wall as he tugged on his shoes. _I’m staying with Levi. That’s really—considerate. Very nice._ And before that—the funeral. Handshake. _Sorry for your loss_. _Nice to see you again_. Before that—God, how long ago? Levi could barely remember. Something equally awkward, probably. Something in passing, impersonal. _Can’t you do something more practical than writing?_ The first time he’d really met Grisha and Grisha thinking he and Carla were dating, and how it felt like Grisha had never really believed they weren’t, had never really moved on beyond suspicion or some weird ex-husband syndrome sense of intimidation …  

And now here they were, Levi staring at Eren’s father as Eren’s father stared at him in the aisle of the East John Street Safeway at seven-something on a Sunday evening, with Eren’s father’s obvious girlfriend holding a basket full of Valentine’s Day date goodies.

“Grisha,” Levi greeted, like it was a standoff or something.

“Levi,” Grisha replied, smile tightening. “How are—oh, Daina, this is Levi, an old coworker of my ex-wife’s.”

“And friend,” Levi added.

“Oh!” The woman—Daina—smiled charmingly, quick once-over of Levi with her soft eyes, which was admittedly to be expected of a woman whose significant other brought up a former partner, especially one who’d just died. “Ah, nice to meet you … ”

Grisha’s arm brushed along the small of Daina’s back and Levi had to swallow the sour taste in his mouth—protective over Carla’s memory, somehow; protective over Eren for some other strange reason. This was just his fucking luck, wasn’t it?

“Daina,” Grisha murmured, “I’ll meet you up front in a few, is that all right?”

She smiled one more time at Levi before heading off down the aisle, still hugging her broken basket, nice shoes tapping gently on the scuffed linoleum.

“Thank you,” Grisha said before Levi could even look back at him.

Levi hoped he didn’t look as uncomfortable as he felt, rocking weakly from heel to toe before wandering back over to his shopping cart. Awkward. So God damn awkward.

“Yeah, of course.” Levi cleared his throat, frowning faintly. “For what?”

“For—you know, Eren. Staying with you.”

_Not mooching, are you?_

Something newly self-conscious and a little guarded tightened in Levi’s spine. He crossed his arms and slouched down against the cart, frowning across the aisle at Grisha where Grisha stood, hands in the pockets of his long coat. Scarf dangling down along buttons and lapel, navy blue sweater beneath. High overhead lights caught in his glasses. Grisha—date night. Levi—pitiful in a zip-up hoodie and denim jacket, wrinkled Henley and faded jeans. Very incompatible with the image Grisha had of him, he was sure. Very not prepared to deal with Carla’s ex-husband. It was just like—sometimes feeling _presentable_ went hand in hand with social aptitude and not feeling presentable was just a mess of antsy self-consciousness.

“It’s not a problem,” Levi murmured.

“But, really.” Grisha shrugged, seemingly at a loss, and a bit frazzled, as though he’d been thinking about what to say but was caught off guard by the surprise run-in. “He’s not too much, is he? I mean, I didn’t know you two were that close, but … ” There was a crease to his brow of real frustration and guilt. Not guilt for something he’d done, but—guilt for his son, Levi realized. The poor guy looked like Eren just wore him the fuck out.

Levi shook his head, waved his hands once. “He helps out with rent and he’s really unobtrusive,” he said. “I don’t mind him staying as long as he needs. I know how long it takes to … ” He sighed. “You know. She’s gone.”

Eren’s father shifted with a short sigh, leaning a bit as if checking to make sure Daina was not waiting, listening around the corner. His eyes flashed back over to Levi, suddenly stripped of all careful conversational politeness. No more Mr. Nice Carla’s Ex, respectfully distant. This was just Grisha now. Man to man. And there was nothing resentful about it, just a stark, strained sort of honesty as he said, “Listen. Levi, I’m not going to lie. I know you and I aren’t—well, I don’t know you as well as Carla did, or Eren does. Apparently. But I’m worried he’s jumping the gun here. He’s impulsive, and I’m sure you know he can be a little demanding at times. But I don’t want you to feel like it’s your responsibility just because you’re dating—”

Levi’s glance swerved Grisha’s way, wide-eyed.

“—and you know, if you ever want to grab lunch or something, talk a little, I hope you know I wouldn’t mind that. I’ve been thinking about it. At first I was … I was extremely put off by the whole thing. You’re so much older than him. I hardly know you. You met through his _mother_ , for Christ’s sake—”

Sounded apologetic but betrayed by Carla. By Eren. As if they’d kept some secret from him. Guarded, and a little protective, naturally. Judging Levi. Scrutinizing him. Struggling with a clear discomfort for which Levi didn’t entirely blame him.

“—and maybe there’s a lot more to it than I know, but he doesn’t tell me things. I didn’t even know he broke up with his other boyfriend. He has this unrealistic outlook on relationships from—I think from the romance novel thing.”

 _Something more practical_.

“Or maybe it was us—Carla and me. We ruined his whole formative perception of healthy relationships when we separated, I guess—” 

_They didn’t even do it right!_

“When the _fuck_ did he tell you we were dating?” Levi blurted.

Grisha stared. Levi stared back, panic cresting, then suddenly realized the indignant look twisting his face and hurried to reign it back in. Rustle of Safeway bouquet tissue paper.

“Not _too_ long ago,” Grisha said, slow and confused and also deeply sorry for the obvious crossing of wires somewhere along the way. And the unspoken question was heavy on the air. Levi had it, too, anyway. Just managed to brush it away more often than not—

What would Carla think?

Levi dragged his tongue along the inside of his lower lip, trying to clear the chalky taste of mild distress. His heart pounded heart below his throat. Clearly Eren had not explained everything to his father. Not that he really needed to for it to be already painfully uncomfortable. _So much older than him._ Dating Carla’s friend. _Hardly know you_. Old coworker.

 _Put off by it. Jumping the gun_.

_Because you’re dating._

He wanted to say something. Wanted to say, what _would_ Carla think? What’s the fucking deal? You think it’s weird? I think it’s fucking weird. Fucking weird, sure, but not _wrong_ , not _bad_ , stop looking at me like I ruined something, like I invaded something, like you don’t trust me, like I’m the big bad wolf and your son is Red fucking Riding Hood—

 _Let me buy you a drink or something. Your mom wouldn’t want you moping around_ …

“Um,” Levi said quietly, voice as flighty as his thoughts in his tight throat. What was he panicking for, anyway? The fact that Eren’s father knew, or … ?

Fuck, who else had Eren told? What was he saying? Was he embarrassed to explain the whole thing? Why the fuck hadn’t he told Levi he’d … ? God fucking damn it—

 _I’m a grown man, Levi. I got this_.

Mutely, Levi just gawked at Grisha.

“Anyway.” Grisha swung his hands out of his pockets to adjust his coat with one hand, still juggling the coffee and English muffins, smiling weakly. “Thank you. For being there for him. That’s really all I wanted to say.”

Levi slumped against the shopping cart feeling very young and very stupid. Like the whole world was zeroing in on his storm surge of insecurity—like it was stamped across his forehead: EREN’S BOYFRIEND. Branded into his chest. Spotlight, washing him in bright white unwanted focus.

 _I’m staying with Levi, you know, Mom’s friend_ …

_Don’t know you as well as Eren, apparently._

Levi cleared his throat, mortified. “Yeah, it’s not a problem,” he snapped, repeating himself, not quite sure what else to say without choking on it. “It was good to see you, Grisha. I’m sorry—you know, that we’re strangers.”

Grisha relaxed into a much more amiable smile. Sad. Guilty. Hopeful, somehow, at the same time. “Well, like I said, maybe we can change that. Considering—uh, well, everything.”

“Have a good night, Grisha,” Levi said, voice thick.

“You too, Levi. Happy, uh … ” Grisha laughed. “Well, see you again soon.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Levi stood in the empty Safeway aisle, staring at nothing in particular. The gray parts of the floor tile. A crooked price tag. Loose thread in his sleeve.

He’d been so relieved earlier, that Eren had had plans with his friends today. _Dateless movie night_. It was really endearing, actually. Funny. 

But it was really fucking unfair of Levi, wasn’t it?

To expect Eren to just not give a fuck about the day. Eren. Mr. Romance Formula, E. Rogue the romance novelist endorsed by the late Carla Jäger.

Eren hadn’t even asked him what they were going to do about it. Valentine’s Day. He hadn’t asked. And yet he hadn’t seemed to expect anything from Levi at all.

But—to be with someone and just expect them not to expect anything from him on the day of the year designated for romantic bullshit? How could he be so—oblivious? Indifferent? Remiss? Selfish? _Cold_? He could have at least asked Eren what he anticipated, at least told him what Levi wanted from the day, himself. Just fucking _spoken_ about it. Like Levi’s anxiety had been low-lying on the radar in the days building up to the holiday—weeks, saturated in candies and jewelry ads, paper valentines, hearts, flowers, balloons, cards—Eren’s nerves probably had been, too, for entirely different reasons—fuck, was he lonely today? Was he regretting this whole thing? Questioning it? He’d hate it after this; he wouldn’t want it. Eren was the fucking romance queen’s son, he was—

Okay—breathe.

Even if Eren did get it, Levi could imagine it was still a bit disheartening to just give up the, arguably, most romantic holiday of the year for the first time and not even be asked how he felt about it.

Something fizzled out in Levi’s head. He left it there. He swiveled the shopping cart around with a scraping whine of the wheels, and forgot the almond milk he’d meant to grab before Daina’s basket had broken.

Never mind short circuiting; this was a circuit board overloaded and a Valentine’s Day blackout. Oh, well. Whatever. Blackouts were a good Valentine’s Day date, right? Candles and shit.

* * *

From: ARMIN

_Mikasa wants to watch a slasher film too_

 

To: ARMIN

_Lol she’s great._

 

To: ARMIN

_i have to stop at home, i forgot the drinks_

 

Eren stood outside the apartment front door, frowning at a picture taped just under the peephole, inkjet home-printout of the Eiffel Tower.

“What the fuck?” he whispered, and tugged it down.

The door was locked—Levi was out, then. He hadn’t said anything about plans. Maybe he was with friends, or something. Maybe he had his own anti-Valentine’s Day tradition. That wasn’t inconceivable. What was an aromantic Valentine’s Day like, anyway? Just a normal day. Or an annoying day. Or …

The door creaked only a little as Eren opened it, and only because he opened it slowly. The apartment was still and softly-lit—low kitchen light, the colors of the city after nine p.m. streaming in through open blinds. Music played, ambient, Ben Howard or some other soft indie acoustic left on, drifting from the small stereo under Levi’s desk. Weird. Levi did not seem the type of person to leave music on while gone. Unless he was the type of person who played music while home alone, and he just hadn’t been lately because Eren was there. Eren liked that idea. It was kind of quaint and special.

Another printed-out picture waited just a few steps inside—a listing review for a French café, with a Sticky Note that said _Drink coffee here_ in fine, straight, all-cap handwriting. Ben Howard gave way to something softer, slower.

 _Forgot the things I could have been and darling, I’ve been cold_ …

A trail of paper hearts in shades of red stretched forth, leading the way like stepping stones to the next waiting home-printed picture. At the corner between kitchen and closet office—a cobbled path along a low, deep gray wall, blanketed in the same fiery autumn colors as the trees that lined it. Sticky Note. _Père Lachaise cemetery – Walk here_. Just after that, a print-out of a bright, exciting nighttime bistro. _Eat here_. Living room side of the island counter—movement from Eren’s careful footsteps sent a paper heart dancing askew. “Damn it,” he whispered. At his toe was a review listing for some other quiet, hole in the wall café. Sticky Note. _Passage Dauphine. Write here_.  

Eren stood, adding the paper to the growing pile in his hands.

_Drink coffee here. Walk here. Eat here. Write here._

He tiptoed around the paper hearts and followed the printed pages like a fairy tale trail of crumbs. A bar, wall lined in vintage spirits and wine. _Get French drunk here_. At Levi’s open bedroom door, picture of a hopping nightlife district, graffitied wall outside a hip-looking bar. _French kiss here_. The paper hearts paraded up onto the bed, where an Airbnb listing for a sleek, modern _Magnifique appartement proche des Champs Élysées_ lay with a Sticky Note declaring _Fuck here_ at the windows. A second page, paper clipped—medieval-looking room turned hipster heaven, brick wall, exposed beam ceilings, cozy and quaint, floor to ceiling rain-freckled windows. _Or here_ , the Sticky Note over the low futon bed said.

“Tch.” Eren ground his lip between his teeth to stunt a stupid smile, flustered and blushing. And that was still embarrassing, even when alone. The music from the stereo followed him.

 _Carve me open, love, and show me all the things you want, because I’m going_ …

By the couches, an eclectic brunch place called Eggs and Co. with great reviews on Yelp. _Hangover breakfast here_. A farmer’s market. _Go here_. Another café, rue Monge— _WRITE HERE_ , the Sticky Note demanded.  

Sugar daddy, his dad had said. Eren snorted. Who was the sugar daddy, though, the guy housing his younger lover or the guy paying for his not-boyfriend’s trip to Europe?

 _Write here. WRITE HERE_.

The last page, taped to the patio door—tall French doors open on a hotel balcony overlooking the city, on a dreamily foggy morning, old world buildings and iconic roofs peeking up like ancient gods. _Write at sunrise here, doors open, hot coffee, no worries_ , the last Sticky Note said. _Or whatever._

Eren didn’t bite back the second smile. Maybe it was actually just the first still, escaping his hold—tiny and simple as a shy warmth bloomed in the pit of his chest.

Wait.

Levi was … for sure going with him to Europe in the spring—was that what all this meant?

Forgetting to bite back the smile, Eren thumbed through the papers he’d collected from the trail of hearts. The song on the stereo faded into the next. _Sometimes I can’t take the silence_ … His own heart fluttered, somewhere below his throat. Breathless with subdued excitement. The paper hearts were so Pinterest and the printed-out pages were so painfully Levi. What a dork. He was adorable. Trying so hard. Going to Paris together. _Kiss here, walk here, fuck here, write here_. It was really sweet, actually. Flattering and romantic, and inexplicably significant. Like boyfriend jacket. Like eye contact during sex. Like a first date written on a coffee cup. God, he loved hi—

Eren looked up, eyes wide.

But there was no one there to offer explanation or reassure him he was not in love, just a sucker for these sorts of things. 

_Romancing, wooing, like—what does it mean?_

Heart bottoming out, Eren stood alone in the apartment with the humming music, gawking at the paper trail of hearts as a guilty horror slowly crept through him.

 _This whole production_.

Person A meets Person B.

 _Sense of ownership, emotional bribery_.

Romantic gestures. Pinch Point. Point of No Return.

 _Smokescreen over the fact that everyone is so terrified of being alone_.

Eren’s eyes cut to the stereo under Levi’s desk.

 _No ‘our song’ on the radio outside your window_ —

French kiss against a graffitied brick wall in some Paris bar district.

 _No PDA_ —

Walking through the otherworldly beauty of the Père Lachaise cemetery, coffee at a real café, dinner at a Yelp-praised Moroccan restaurant.

 _No dates, no romantic dinners_ —

Balcony overlooking the heart of old Europe, Notre Dame in the distance.

 _Sunrise_ —

No slow dancing, no _Kiss the Chef_ Saturday mornings, no Facebook status change. _The butterflies, it makes no sense, I’ve never felt that way._ No sweep-you-off-your-feet moments, stupid little couples’ gifts or cutesy notes, cliché candlelight, no breakfast in bed on Valentine’s Day—

 _Don’t fall in love with me_.

Eren threw the papers down on the ottoman. Running his hands through his hair anxiously, he hissed to himself a second time, “What the _actual_ _fuck_ , though!”  

Was this a joke? A test or something? All this, all the sweet little notes and ideas—when he’d even _told_ Levi—the Paris thing wasn’t a romantic getaway—

_So what does it mean, aromantic?_

_You just have to know it’s not going to be_ …

Eren’s heart thundered somewhere hollow in his chest. He slid his hands down to the sides of his face, which burned hot below his cold fingers as he stared at the Sticky Noted papers and wondered if he’d forgotten how to breathe like he’d forgotten what it was like. Orchestrated romantic gestures like this. How nice they were. How much he liked them. And he didn’t _dislike_ not having them, but—this was Levi.

_I’m supposed to like it? It feels fake._

And that meant …

 _They don’t mean anything_.

The metal tang of adrenaline rose on Eren’s tongue. Made his blood rush. Nerves spark.

 _Scared of the way you make me feel_.

Funeral. Sex. Spare room. Key. The office. Dinner. New Year’s. The paper hearts all over the floor, the Sticky Notes, Levi’s smile, his laugh, the flash of his eyes, burning into him that night a week or so ago, after Erwin left, after New York, looming overhead, sexy silhouette, and below him Eren had—

 _Don’t fall in love_.

It had been quite liberating, actually, to not worry about Valentine’s Day for the first time in a long time. Not even as a single guy had Eren felt such little pressure. And he’d certainly not expected this, whatever it was. Ripping at the seams of what he’d been willing to disassemble and so carefully re-stitch and—did it mean anything at all, then? Romance? This wasn’t Levi. This wasn’t what Levi did. So was it just the gestures themselves that made Eren’s head spin, or was it … ?

 _Don’t fall in love_.

Well, he was running headfirst into a storm here.

 _Sometimes I try to ignore you, but I can’t shake loose from what you do_ —

Eren punched the music off to stand still again in the silence, not sure what the fuck he was supposed to do. His chest ached. Bottled anger. Guilt. Fear. Fight or flight.

 _Don’t_ …

But there was no one there to fight with, and he wished he knew why his feelings always unfolded in such unbidden violence, but he didn’t. His emotional compass was just skewed, maybe. Stuttered all over the place.

God, he wished he could talk to his mom.  

Eren placed the printed pages neatly on the kitchen counter. Jaw tight, his heartbeat throbbing in his fingertips, he tore a page off the small notepad magnet on the fridge, fumbled around for a pen and wrote:

_The sticky notes are pretty cute._

He sighed at himself. Bit at a thumbnail anxiously for a moment, brow knotted. Threw out the note and ripped off another page.

_I need some space, I’ll be back_

He drummed the pen fast on the counter, jittery. Still felt like he couldn’t breathe.

 _Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love_.

He swung the pen around to add:

_/Terminator voice_

Laden with his duffel bag, full backpack, the drinks he’d bought for dateless movie night clinking in the Fred Meyer bag hoisted to one side, Eren elbowed the front door shut behind him and locked it with a snap of the bolt.

 

 

**end ch. xvi**


	17. Take Your Last Supply

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi knew he’d never have what other people had, and it made him happy. // Thursday, February 18th. Ten to seven in the morning and 45° out. Mostly cloudy. // “Stop! Wait! I want a picture!” Hanji cried, waving her hand around excitedly. // “All that stuff … ” Eren’s eyes swerved back, burned into him so tragically hopeful and careful at the same time. “You’re going to Europe with me?” // Paper hearts littered the apartment floor like fallen leaves — stepped on, wrinkled. Tossed by footsteps under a bar stool, under the couch. // Wouldn’t Carla give him that look, that sisterly look, say, 'Well, dumbass, you shouldn’t have forced yourself.' // “What the fuck should I be grateful for? Forced, fake romantic gestures? I don’t want that from you. It’s not you. We’re not supposed to do that stuff!” // Levi shrugged limply, held Eren’s gaze with the ghost of a smile. “Maybe you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he conceded. // In fact, Eren wasn’t sure he’d ever been in love at all before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy day designed by capitalism to exploit loneliness and heteronormative romance nah jk HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!! ♡♡♡ it's a long one, guys, i'm so sorry crying
> 
> song pairings - **these brittle bones** | _instinct_ , **haux** | _caves_ , **bryde** | _wait_

_Thirteen years ago._

Levi knew he’d never have what other people had, and it made him happy.

“Levi!” Erwin’s mother leaned out the side kitchen door, waving a patterned dish towel. “Stop that! Stop smoking! It’s so bad for you! Erwin — you’re going to be a doctor, you make him stop.”

It wasn’t mean; it wasn’t even really an immediate request. It was just a motherly thing. With a gentle huff and a pout, she disappeared back into the house, and on the porch Erwin slid a glance over to Levi with a toothy little half-smile. Levi pressed his mouth in a tight line, flicking cigarette ash off the side of the porch and returning the glance with a faint smirk of his own.

“She loves you,” Erwin said, crisp autumn wind toying with his hair as he leaned back propped on his elbows, legs crossed at the ankles. And what he meant, Levi knew, was that he was fully aware Levi struggled with holiday family functions.

“Unfortunately,” Levi muttered.

“For you?”

“For _you_.” Levi broke into a tiny grin around another short pull off his cigarette. Erwin checked the house, gestured with two fingers. Turned around and bummed a drag or two before issuing a gentle shrug.

“I’m going back inside,” he husked. “I’ll keep her busy so she stops bugging you.”

His hand slipped through Levi’s hair, affectionate little tousle. Levi tipped his head away just a bit, caught himself, hoped Erwin didn’t. With a pinched smile he met Erwin’s eyes and raised his brows. _You’re like a cat_ , Erwin said sometimes with a laugh that maybe wasn’t entirely carefree. _You only want things on your terms_.

Erwin’s fingers trailed away against the back of Levi’s neck as he moved off into the house, screen door of the old Snohomish bungalow scratching at the hinges. Levi watched him go, turned around to lean back against the side of the porch. The air out here was so cool and pure; the pine trees stretched against a sky unbothered by city life. A little decorative windmill in the yard, a chipped and crooked shed. Down the road another house with a legit fifties Ford pickup, short and round and spotted by rust.

Inside — Erwin, his mother, his aunt, a cousin or two, all half shadows in the kitchen. Muffled commotion from elsewhere in the house where Mr. Smith and the rest of the family watched the football game. Thanksgiving. Levi had no idea why he’d agreed to go to the Smith family celebration when Erwin asked. Maybe because he felt obligated to. Maybe because it made Erwin happy. Maybe because he just wanted to be around Erwin and it was Thanksgiving and what the fuck else was he going to do, sit at home alone? Go to Kenny’s? Hell no.

Shouts erupted from deeper in the house — cheers — someone must have scored a touchdown, whoever was playing who this year.

Voices drifted out through the screen door. Erwin — “Mom. Mom, move. You’re going to burn yourself.” His mother — “Erwin, can you open that for me?” Chatter and laughter from the others.

“Is this the cheesecake Levi brought? It looks good!”

“Your boyfriend?” Erwin’s aunt asked. Voices lowered. Softened with sympathy, maybe pity. Tad bit of uncertainty. “I’m so glad he came … ”

Levi left the porch and crunched down the gravel driveway to throw his cigarette butt off the property into the street. _Your boyfriend?_ He sighed, standing there a moment, clenching and stretching his hands to channel the nervousness somewhere. The Smiths were nothing but friendly. Nothing but kind. But he wasn’t sure what was worse — to be the _boyfriend_ or to be the charity case, much as anyone might insist that wasn’t it at all.

_So glad he came._

Erwin had warned him on the drive up: they went around the table before they ate toasting and declaring what they were thankful for. Levi had told him cool, thanks, he’d express his gratitude for the natives in whose blood America drenched its mythical heritage, and Erwin had smiled in that way like he suppressed a frustrated sigh, eyes widening just a bit, brows raised, smile wide but just _slightly_ sarcastic as he’d said, “Yeah, maybe not, but you do you, babe.”

Levi had smiled, too, secretly and to himself. A little wilted. A little pleased. Tenderly. He’d never thought he’d meet someone who understood him so well. And that still scared him sometimes.

The screen door hinges scraped against themselves as Levi ducked inside, into the heat and the sweet rich smell of Thanksgiving dinner. Erwin’s mother greeted him with a bright smile as she hustled about taking casserole dishes and tin platters into the dining room. Erwin’s cousin flashed him a shy smile — she was sixteen, wanted so badly to seem grown-up and edgy around her cousin and his boyfriend. Erwin’s aunt said, “Should we put your cake in the fridge?”

The Smiths did, indeed, practice the tradition of toasting to individual declarations of thanks. And Levi felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb, slouched next to Erwin near the end of the table. All these cheery blonds in collared shirts and sweater vests (except for Erwin, Erwin was in his best flannel, of course). Their inside family knowledge, the conversational references he didn’t get in the slightest, the memories and intersection of lives from which he was excluded — and him, the outsider, the stranger, the _boyfriend_ , the absolute antithesis to a glowing, pleasant family, with his dark hair, and his reticent smiles, and his black turtleneck and gray cords.

The thanks circled around to him. Everyone quieted with a certain edge, curious and cautious. Levi shrugged, leaving one arm crossed against the other elbow as he lifted his glass of wine, perked in a dry little smile and said, “Thanks for being such a happy family.”

The edge of the quiet sharpened. All the Smiths seemed uncomfortable for a breath or two, unsure whether it was mockery, or honesty, or some fishing for sympathy. But then Erwin touched his glass of wine to Levi’s, and so did his cousin, and then his other cousin, his uncle, his aunt, his grandparents, his parents, all of them. And Levi’s smile softened a little as he stretched to meet them all, chest tight but all in all grateful for the reaction. Conversation resumed as usual. Thanks and pass the dinner rolls.

He would never have a mother. A father. A big Thanksgiving to-do, or Christmas, or whatever else came with a family. But it was so nice to see other people happy because they _did_. 

* * *

_Present._

Paper hearts littered the apartment floor like fallen leaves — stepped on, wrinkled. Tossed by footsteps under a bar stool, under the couch. Plastered up against the island counter.

Levi left it that way. He didn’t want to touch them. Just looking at them made his throat close up a little, something awful leadening in his stomach and sludging thick through his veins.

_I need some space, I’ll be back /Terminator voice_

The paper hearts danced about freely for three days and Levi tried not to let himself think about it right away, what it meant that Eren was _gone_ gone this time, not breezing by every morning, every night, to make a statement, to confirm he was still there even if he was angry. But Levi wasn’t a heartless person.

6:51 a.m. 2/15/2016

To: EREN

_How’s your hangover?_

From: EREN

_don’t have one, ha_

Eren was pissed off about something. Levi knew the kid well enough to know when he was mad, and the funny thing about Eren being mad was that it was more like a brooding than actual resentment. Stubborn and defiant and withdrawn as he processed something down enough to digest. Levi just couldn’t really figure out _why_. Clearly he’d done _something_ wrong — and he was so God damn tired of doing something wrong and never understanding what it was.

_Need some space_.

It wasn’t a bad idea. Levi could use some space, too, apparently. He needed to decompress. Just recharge, or something. That was probably why he’d fucked up. Between the manuscript debacle and Valentine’s Day and Eren’s dad, he’d just felt a little … cornered. Pressured. A little bit like a failure.

9:27 a.m. 2/16/2016

From: EREN

_you’re not worried about me, are you_ … _?_

To: EREN

_Should I be?_

From: EREN

_no, i’m ok, just worried you’re worried_

_One day you’re going to be someone else’s good man, too._

10:31 p.m. 2/17/2016

From: EREN

_i liked the sticky notes_

To: EREN

_Yeah, you said that_

Levi closed the cabinet door and stood at the kitchen counter in the fuzzy dimness of early morning, watching tea bloom dark and smooth in a light blue mug.

Wouldn’t Carla have a lot to say about all this? Not their unexpected — whatever it was. _Togetherness_. That was a can of worms he didn’t want to open right now. No, wouldn’t she have a lot to say about this ridiculous stand-off, their refusal to just fucking _talk_ to each other. _Stubborn_ , she’d probably say. Both so stubborn. Would she give him that look, that sisterly look, say, _Well, dumbass, you shouldn’t have forced yourself_.

Yeah, and he’d done just that. Like an idiot. Like before. Like always ruined things.

Levi sighed long and tired, leaning back against the counter as his gaze flickered around the quiet apartment. Settled shadows. Foggy gray slipping higher above the lake, around the neighboring buildings, into the living room through the open blinds. Already a steady, distant rush of morning cars below. Nothingness. Buzz of the refrigerator. Hum of the heat. The spare bedroom an empty husk, and that was weird. All of it was weird. It was just _weird_ how unalive a place felt when suddenly a part of its clockwork had gone. Weird, like after Erwin had moved out, after New York. Levi had gotten used to it. Eventually, and without real issue, but …

He didn’t like it right now.

The manuscript. New York. Paper hearts. Eren on the couch — asking if Levi wanted to go to Europe. If he was sad about Carla. How he could be aromantic if they’d had sex. _I don’t really want to write Harlequins anymore._ Eren with wine up against the counter. Stumbling into his shoes on Christmas morning. On Erwin’s patio, eyes heated, Levi asking him _Where do we go from here?_ and Eren saying, _Let’s fuck, like really fuck_. Teaching Levi to cook a nice meal. _Squish, it’s called a squish_. His papers all over the closet office, his copy of his mother’s first real manuscript. Eren in the U-Village saying _I liked it_. In Levi’s room after the funeral wrapped in a sheet performing _Erin Brockovich_. At the funeral dead-eyed and dazed. Writer’s conference. _If I were Hemingway._ Top of the Space Needle. _Congratulations, E. Rogue!_ In his living room. _Who’s that in the picture?_ Standing in Carla’s kitchen, eyes dark and dangerous. _They didn’t even do it right_. Eren sitting on the edge of his bed a while ago begging Levi for something — anything — as he looked up at him and whispered _Will you kiss me?_  

Levi heaved another sigh through his teeth, leaving his tea to go shower. He lingered for a moment at his bedroom window, squinting down into the lightening world, nose to the icy cold glass. Thumbed for his iPhone’s lock screen. Seven new e-mails. Edits back from an author, office fuck-off convo with Petra about a dress she really wanted to buy but didn’t know if she should, a forwarded query letter …

Thursday, February 18th. Ten to seven in the morning and 45° out. Mostly cloudy.

Levi held his sleeve over his palm with curled fingers to wipe the little smudge from his face off the windowpane.

* * *

 

_Two years ago_.

“Stop! Wait! I want a picture!” Hanji cried, waving her hand around excitedly. Levi didn’t wait; he lifted his cell phone and snapped one of her before she was through speaking, a little blurry, Leavenworth coffee shop stretching up off the cobblestones behind her.

“Damn it, Levi,” she said. “Delete that. No, don’t. Yeah, delete it.”

Mike sighed and wandered over beside her, wound an arm about her side. She jumped, sent him a funny look. Levi’s glance flickered over to Erwin, brow cocked. Erwin returned the faint smirk. They had a bet going, after all, on when the fuck Mike would just ask Hanji out. Man of few words and many feelings.

The world opened up into a pale blue winter sky over Leavenworth, little German Christmas village in the southern cradle of the North Cascades collage. The mountains rose up even before the horizon, hovering over the sloping, cobbled streets and fake wattle and daub, stylized storefronts. The air was crisp and rich with the sweet scents of pastry shops and candied apple vendors, roasted chestnut stands, the burn barrels set up here and there throughout the streets, little pockets of warmth in the biting December day.

Mike and Hanji posed with the mountains in the background. Mike, straight-faced. Hanji sneaking some bunny ears up behind his head, giddy for the trick like Mike had no idea she did it. He did, obviously. He was Mike.

“Erwin? Marie?” Hanji waved. “Come on, I’ll take one of you guys.”

Erwin planted a kiss to Marie’s temple as Marie turned against him, pressed her hand to his chest and kicked up a foot. Cutesy and typical. Levi’s absent smile curled a little at the lip. Hanji took the picture. “Oh, shit, wait,” she said, “some kid photobombed. God, control your children, people — okay, got it!”  

And Levi’s eyes hung on Erwin, hung on Marie. Hung on the both of them together, one unit. _Dating_. Cleaved together as they were, Erwin’s arm around her. She cuddled into it, all North Face and high-necked sweater, a little knit cap tugged low enough her blonde hair framed her face in wisps and flipping tufts.

Erwin slipped out his phone. “Let’s go do a wine tasting then — ” Hanji said, unknowing, but Levi saw the sniper-pic coming. He raised his brows at Erwin as he lifted his to-go coffee to his lips to hide a smile. Erwin chuckled at the photo, flash of his youth as Levi remembered it — deep dimples, dancing blue eyes. Still coiled up against his side as his hand moved affectionately at the dip of her waist, Marie laughed and said, “That’s a good one.”

Erwin passed the phone over to Levi. He took it, finished off his coffee as he looked — Hanji, just short of ridiculous in mid-sentence, her ear muffs down around her neck as she gestured off enthusiastically toward the wine-tasting block. Levi, in his slate-grey coat, tartan scarf, brows raised, gentle wind shuffling his hair along his ears and his temple. His to-go coffee shielded his smile, but he could see it in his own eyes — carefree. Happy. Felt like he looked as fun and fashionably aloof as he looked in old Walgreen’s disposables from the pre-Instagram years. Grad school, college, senior year class of Y2K. The mountains stretched across the sky almost too real to be real behind them.

“That’s a good one,” he agreed with Marie. “I want a picture with the Santa donut seller later.”

Erwin laughed. Marie laughed. “You would,” Erwin said.

And as Levi watched them from the corner of his eye, he remembered being fifteen. Fifteen and out grocery shopping with Kenny and noticing couples all over the place for some reason — maybe because he was fifteen — couples so openly expressing their infatuation with each other, obvious and indifferent to the world around them and fifteen-year-olds who might be watching them kiss and laugh, sugary sweet, utterly comfortable, harlequins and rom-coms come to life while fifteen-year-olds watched and thought to themselves, _I’d be so embarrassed if people saw me doing that. I don’t want that. Is that normal?_

Levi wasn’t jealous.

He was relieved Erwin was dating someone. Marie gave him what Levi couldn’t. And Levi would never have that. He’d never be able to give that. PDA. Cute little exchanges, intimate smiles and laughter and quick kisses and jewelry and an expensive watch and — dates. Anniversaries. Flowers. Romantic holidays. All the good stuff.

But it … was so nice, despite the way it felt somewhat foreign to Levi, to see other people have that and seem so genuinely happy.

“Wine tasting!” Hanji said again. “Come on, guys — there’s one that starts in ten minutes up around the corner.”

* * *

_Present_.

The mist of a February rain sparkled on Levi’s windshield in the roll of headlights, a car passing up at the intersection. He just sat in his car for a moment, parked at the curb of the Ravenna Tudor — Carla’s place — Eren’s place, too, really. Funny, how it was so natural to separate him from it. It was still his mother’s house at the end of the day, inherited or not. Why Eren had never gotten his own place after school, Levi didn’t know, but he had a feeling it was because Carla had wanted him there with her. 

Writers were such nervous, lonely creatures by nature, he’d learned over the years. Then again, maybe editors were, too.

There was something about the way the world felt after rain slowed to a stop — just a clarity to the air, a fragileness in the way leftover rain drops fell lazily from trees and gutters. The pavement glittered; the streetlights brightened.

There was a car back there, in the alley, where anyone smart parked on a residential street like this. Lights on inside the Tudor. Glowing warm and faintly yellow at the curtained windows. Shadow puppet show, glimpse of someone moving in there, through a break in the center of the drapes. Eren.

He’d guessed right.

Levi turned off his car.

The porch popped under one step as he climbed to knock on the front door. He waited, idly shifting from one foot to the other. The dull but creeping cold tingled on his ears, his nose. Impatience plucked at his already tight nerves. Tension wound in his jaw. He wasn’t about to knock again. Eren had to have heard him —

The door swung open with a jerk and a click at the handle, a conscious tug. It stuck at the jamb a little, always had. It drifted to a stop as Eren stared at Levi from the other side of the glass porch door.

He was an adorable wreck, per usual. Messy hair pinned up out of his face like it had been annoying him or something; his sweater, lopsided at the collar, slipping closer to one shoulder than the other. That distance to his eyes like he was in the zone, he was working, Levi had interrupted him. But something livened inside him briefly, small flare in his eyes — only to be quickly, stubbornly, snuffed out as he propped the glass door open with a shoulder, faint whistle of the lower door hinges. Leaning there, he peered somberly at Levi with his socked toes curling in, out, in again, away from the cold. Gentle pinch of embarrassment, flustered, almost sulky.

In the house behind him, the television was on at low volume. A few cardboard boxes filled with random household things sat in little clusters here and there. Photo albums. Trinkets. Books. The microwave went off.

Hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, Levi ducked his chin to his rain-speckled scarf. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Eren replied curtly. He opened his mouth to say something else, brow knotted, but the words died away at the tip of his tongue as Levi cleared his throat and said first, “Have you eaten? Can I order us dinner?”

Eren’s face twisted in something just a bit too soft to be a skeptical scowl. “What?” he grunted.

Levi shrugged, raising his brows. “I just came from the office, it’s a little late, do you want me to order us dinner?”

Eren blinked a few times, incredulous. Laughed suddenly. Toes curling, uncurling. Threw his arms together in a tight knot across his chest. “No, you can’t just — ” He cut the words off between his teeth and a frustrated huff of breath.

Finally, eyes burning low but hot, he conceded, “I was going to call tomorrow.”  

Levi nodded, mouth twisted to one side. “Oh?” he hummed. He shifted his weight to the other foot, cleared his throat. “You said you’d be back. On your note. Terminator voice.” 

Fidgeting a little, Eren shrugged. Daunting stare. Appraising him.

“Are you mad at me for some reason?”

Eren swayed slowly to one side then slid back the other way, tongue rolling along the inside of his lip. He issued a second miserable shrug. 

It did nothing to ease the tension coiling Levi into a conductor rod of humiliated disdain for the whole Valentine’s Day thing. It lingered like a bad aftertaste, bottled up inside, just festered there. Made him feel tight and brittle around it. God damn it.

“So, what then,” he said, with the usual little defensive scoff of a chuckle, “are you waiting for me to beg you to come back, or are you moving home again? Listen, I stopped doing the typical breakup shit a while ago. You can come get the rest of your stuff whenever. I won’t be weird about it — ”

Eren threw him a look of subdued horror.

“What?” he choked out again, genuinely frantic. “I’m not breaking up with you. Are you breaking up with me?”

Levi bristled and immediately regretted the bitter remark. “No.” His brow knotted. “Why would I break up with you?”

“Because I went ghost like, all week.” Eren reflected the cautious confusion in a sidelong glance, eyes sparking like jumping embers. “Why would I break up with _you?_ ”

Yanking his hands from his pockets to run roughly through his hair a few times, drag steepled down his face, Levi swallowed hard against his tight throat. “Because — you know.” Paper hearts. Post-it notes. Romantic gesture. Grisha in Safeway saying, _I hardly know you. He doesn’t tell me things. He has this unrealistic outlook. We ruined his perception of healthy relationships_ —

Driving his hands back into his pockets, Levi looked up at Eren with a deep pinch to the brow.

“Valentine’s Day,” he finally forced out, and felt pathetic.

Eren’s eyes darted away. “Yeah, Valentine’s Day.” His fingers twisted in his sleeve. Knee bounced where he propped one foot against the other, toes burying deeper together against the cold.

There was a moment of silence, in memoriam of the days of easier denial. No Strings Attached. Casual relationship. Clearly something about the paper hearts and print-outs had backfired. Levi knew that. Eren knew Levi knew, and Levi knew he knew he knew — God _damn_ it, just out with it, whatever it was, because it was driving him insane not knowing _that_ —

“I’m sorry,” Eren said. “I told you, I just needed a little bit of space. You get that, right?”

Levi’s mouth perked in a bitter little smirk as he squinted at him through the faded porchlight in all his pinned-back hair and lopsided sweater glory. But after a moment he realized it was not sarcasm on Eren’s part, not even some indignant spite, the familiar fire and gasoline.

It was a plea for sympathy in that marvelously indelicate and unfiltered way of his.

“All that stuff … ” Eren’s eyes swerved back, burned into him so tragically hopeful and careful at the same time. “You’re going to Europe with me?”

Levi’s chest tightened. He ran his tongue over his lower lip, the ridge of his teeth. Tried to ease the tension in his jaw.

“Yeah,” he murmured, and he absolutely meant it. “I’ll go with you.”

Eren’s lashes fluttered; something in him gave way. But then suddenly he was eyeing Levi sidelong again, fuck off body language and sullen, critical glance. “Is this another one of those ‘make it up’ to me things?” he demanded.    

Levi’s brow pinched deeper. “What do you mean?”

Eren shrugged another time, more roughly.  

_Make it up to you_ — _someone who wants you to love him even though he won’t give you what you need_ — _no reward_ —

“No,” Levi snapped, the words cutting out like his glance cut to Eren through his lashes, crossly. “It’s not like that.”

The neighborhood was still, quiet. Someone houses down with their garage open, bustling about. A dog barking a street over. The silence rolled forth — a pause, searching, both waiting, an electric humming between them. Levi sighed through his nose, snapping his tongue gently against the back of his teeth. “You look like you have a lot to say … ”

Eren ducked back inside.

“Hey — ” Levi’s eyes widened. He almost made it up the top step and to the closing door, brief surge of panic sluicing through him, but Eren’s voice hurried back, muffled.

“I’m getting shoes, Jesus, hold on … ”

He caught the glass door with a hard palm before it could swing all the way shut, steadying himself on one Acorn sheepskin slippered foot as he pulled the back of the other over his socked heel.

“I’m just _mad_ ,” he announced firmly. The porchlight made him look washed out and tired. Levi didn’t like it.

“Mad,” he echoed, trying to quell the bruised impatience that crested to be grudged something nice he’d done — again. He shrugged and shook his head at the same time, held his hands out just a bit. With them still deep in his coat pockets, it was more like a helpless flap of the elbows, an uncomfortable rock from heel to toe and back again. “Yeah, I got that. But that’s where you lose me. _Why?_ ”

Eren snorted, eyes widening in exasperated disbelief like he didn’t think he needed to explain it. He shrugged and shook his head right back, belligerent mimicry. Levi flashed him an unappreciative glance for that.

“Wasn’t all that, you know, a little romantic for you?” he said.

“Yeah.” Levi’s jaw tightened, jutted a little. “That was the point.”

“Why?” Eren fired back. “I told you, Paris isn’t going to be like that.”

_I can’t do romance. It just doesn’t work for me._

“I know, Eren.”

“You told _me_ ,” Eren pressed, “things aren’t going to be romantic.”

_I feel trapped_.

“I know, Eren,” Levi said again quietly.

“Then why’d you do it?” he demanded, and despite Levi’s concessions, his temper only pitched further. “Was it some asshole joke? Were you fucking with me — ?”

Levi’s stomach bottomed out; he shot Eren a cold, insulted look as he opened his mouth, but whatever words there were only stuck stunned and chalky to the roof of his mouth.

Eren didn’t even wait. Feisty and unsympathetic, he spat, “See, you did this really romantic thing and now I’m sitting here going, is all this true? The aro thing? Or are you playing head games with me, giving me all these mixed signals, Master of Mixed Messages — come on, Levi. I know this shit. I _write_ this shit!”

Levi scoffed, a bit louder and harder than he’d intended. “What the fuck are you talking about? Are you seriously bringing your stupid formula into this right now?”

“You said it yourself, romance is nothing but a sense of ownership, emotional bribery — ”

_Romancing, wooing, what does it even mean?_

“That’s fucked up,” Levi hissed. “I’m not fucking with you.”

“Ugh, I know, okay!” Eren insisted with a conscious and dramatic sigh much more like a frustrated growl. “But I’m not sure what you expect me to think, Levi, I’m confused!”

Heart thudding in that hollow little place where the fear of being selfish was all too sharp. 

“ _You’re_ confused?” Levi sputtered. “I came here to apologize. I tried to give you what you want, and damn, do you have a really strange way of expressing gratitude — ”

“ _I don’t want it from you!_ ” Eren howled, craning forward with a thud of his elbow against the glass door, a squawk of the hinges, a rattle as it knocked against the side of the house and the words flung themselves violently from his mouth, that God damn kissable mouth.

Levi reared back just a breath or two, face hardening.

Ah, yes, the molten vigor that ran pure and merciless through Eren Jäger’s veins, that hid behind those haunting owl eyes. Behind dimpled, tongue-between-the-teeth grins. Sweet, simple laughter. Reading glasses and nibbling a thumbnail, scratch of a grading pen. Taste of Eren’s smile and his gasps and the way Levi had to sneak a smile of his own at this or that grumpy day, the more innocent frustrations, the harmless ups and downs. Soft skin and sleepy eyes in the morning, charged silence and pizzicato of laptop keys from the closet-office. Levi forgot about it at times. It was laudable, he thought, to be so flagrant with one’s thoughts and emotions, to put them out there into the world where they might be twisted, taken hostage, sacrificed, crushed into the dirt. Sometimes he was mildly jealous of the confidence it must take to be that way — but then there was the apartment balcony on Christmas. _Boyfriend jacket_. There was the cornered animal in his work office. _I can’t fucking believe you did this to me, Levi_.  

And then there was this, Eren’s fiery eyes blazing over him from the open door of the Ravenna Tudor, teeth clenched maybe against chattering but maybe not. Arms knotted tight. Hackles raised. Whittled down to his rawest, most unrivaled force of feeling, and he was going in for the kill, Levi realized.

So, mouth in a thin line, hunched deep in defense, into his coat and scarf, Levi let him, because he deserved it.

“What should I say?” Eren seethed. “Great job? Gold star? No, really, it was pretty good, you know, the whole paper hearts around the house thing. For real, fucking romantic. All you missed were some candles, a good drink. Rose petals on the bed. And, you know, _you._ ”

Paper hearts. Music. Print-outs. Sticky Notes. _Kiss here. Fuck here. Write here_. Didn’t even know how to do nice things the right way.

“You,” Eren repeated himself again with a bratty sneer dimpling his face, taking full ownership of it. “ _That’s_ the problem, Levi. It was this sweet, thought-out romantic surprise, but you told me you don’t do that shit. It makes you uncomfortable. You think I forgot that? That none of it means anything to you?”

Painfully uncomfortable, self-conscious. Chalky taste of mild distress.

_Don’t satisfy you!_

“So yeah, what the _fuck_ should I be grateful for? Forced, fake romantic gestures? I don’t want that from you. It’s not _you_. We’re not supposed to _do that stuff!_ ”

Yes, forced and fake, made him feel like he couldn’t breathe, like he was being tested, like the whole world zeroed in on his storm surge of insecurity, searchlight trapping him in bright white unwanted focus as he tried to escape the guilt.

“Eren,” Levi tried, cleared his throat because his voice was almost too ragged to be heard.

“‘Oh — ’” Eren was running out of breath, frantic, wild and wide-eyed as he mocked what he speculated aloud Levi might say next. “‘ — yeah, well, you did exactly what _you_ weren’t supposed to do, either!’”

“ _Eren_.”

“Really?” he answered himself. “What’s that, Levi? Fall in love with you?”

“Eren — ”

“Don’t worry!” Eren’s voice tore itself threadbare in his throat, his eyes bright and cold like he was near to vicious tears. “I _haven’t!_ ”

God, it wore Levi out, the way Eren wore himself out with his emotions, felt things with such an overwhelming vengeance.  

But, on the second step of the porch, Levi rose his eyes to him, brows arcing slow and gentle. He stood rigid, mouth parted just gently, as an unbidden wave of deep relief left him winded and wilted. Open and empty in a way that felt renewed, weightless, breathless.

_Don’t worry! I haven’t!_

He was so in awe of the vast wilderness in Eren’s soul, where personal pains became pragmatic shouts, secret longings wove themselves together with scars and became habits and obsessions and compulsions which Levi felt inadequate to protect or even unravel, where stubbornness and insecurities might certainly forge denial and that wild heart of his threw itself fearlessly into each and every fray. Meanwhile in him — Levi, himself — a radio station, static, a message coming in now and again, a voice, a program he couldn’t quite pick up turning the dial over and over and over again, chest tightening. And it was Eren’s voice — _I can handle it_ — it was Erwin’s voice — _You don’t give a fuck!_ — it was Eren crying at the water, the way Eren curled in on himself when he laughed, brows knotted and eyes little half-moons of dark lashes, Eren saying _I don’t want to write romance novels anymore_ , saying, _I just miss her_ , screaming _I don’t want it from you!_

A dismal sort of guilt eclipsed Eren’s face, like a child who’d foregone warnings and touched something fragile, broken it, understood for the first time what it meant to destroy something.

Like he feared the rejection of romance might somehow hurt Levi more deeply than a declaration.

There went that low chord of alarm sounding through Levi. _Careful. Careful. Can’t handle it_. Right, this was familiar; with Erwin this was the kneejerk moment of retreat when Levi would say, _Maybe we should take a break, run before it’s too late_. Before he used him up, planted resentment. Broke him. But he couldn’t muster the courage — he couldn’t find the real desire. He didn’t want to heed it, and that was a choice of his own the consequences of which he needed to take responsibility for.

Because this wasn’t Erwin. It was Eren. And the fire in Eren’s eyes was love but it wasn’t love, it was that brazen, tactlessly brutally genuine _something_ Levi had never encountered before and fuck if Eren wasn’t absolutely right about everything. Terrifying, how perceptive he’d gotten of Levi’s worst, pettiest, most self-destructive patterns and not a bit of it had to do with his fucking formula. Those cloying, overwhelming romantic connotations, self-gratifying shows of affection — Eren was right. They weren’t Levi. They weren’t _them_.

And how the fuck could he be so self-centered as to expect Eren to make peace with all his broken pieces if he wasn’t going to make peace with them, himself?  

Paper hearts. Sticky Notes. Plans.

Levi smiled faintly, watching Eren through his lashes. Another man probably wouldn’t have been so comforted by such a rejection, but there were so many things about them that just shouldn’t have been yet _were_. He’d never thought he’d meet someone who understood him so well. He was thirty-five and up to three someones now, and yet he didn’t think he’d ever stop being surprised by it.

_Don’t worry!_

The radio fuzz in Levi went quiet and peaceful.

_I haven’t!_

“I know, Eren,” he murmured again, and he meant it. But he’d already figured it out, anyway. That night back in Kirkland, at the water.

If Eren was going to love him, it would be in a way all his own that would be impossible for anyone to return even if they wanted to.

The tension in Eren went slack at Levi’s instant forgiveness. He seemed bewildered for a moment, suspicious, flustered. But grateful. He glanced over to the house on the left, leaned to peek at the house to the right. “Bet my neighbors are loving this,” he grumbled.

Levi’s smile perked a bit more.

“What?”

Levi shrugged. “Do you feel better?”

The fight had flown from Eren, left him dark and heated with that soft, haunting intensity of his that, like Carla’s, Levi found so hopelessly, tragically special.

“Yes,” he said glumly. “I’m sorry. You really want to go with me? To Paris?”

“I really want to go.”

“You’re not mad at me for being a dick about all this?”

Levi was quiet for a moment, not sure how else to say it but trying, really trying, to find another way if possible. “I’m not mad at you.” He ran his cold hands through his hair more slowly now, combing it into little fistfuls only to let go and start again. Took a deep breath. Make peace with the broken pieces. “I deserved it. I fucked up. This is on me. I didn’t realize — I mean, you’re right. I did exactly what I said we’re not supposed to.”

Eren nodded limply. “It’s just … ” He cleared his throat but his voice still frayed a bit. “I didn’t mean to rip into you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Like, I don’t feel _sad_ anymore, I feel angry. When I’m angry, I just want to scream. When I’m happy I feel guilty. And somehow, sometimes I feel like I’m all those things at the same time. No rhyme or reason. I think it’s … ”

_Carla_.  

“I know, Eren,” Levi said one last time, voice low, tender. He’d been there. Sometimes he was still there.

Eren sighed, blinking rapidly, flutter of lashes. His eyes cleared just enough to burn into Levi with demands for a surrender to the forgiveness. “I was worried you felt pressured to do things that make you uncomfortable. I don’t want that. You need to just be honest with me. That’s how this is going to work, right?”

Levi didn’t catch the new smile until it was already there, a weak, humbled upturn at the corner of the mouth. He shrugged. Eren understood it was acceptance of the peace treaty.

He hoped it was a healthy thing for Eren, to forgive him. He really did. 

The porch door whined at the lower hinges again as he pushed away and back into the house. Levi waited. But the door fell all the way shut with a crash of metal and rattle of glass and a frown swept fast over Levi’s face. He moved forward as Eren’s name moved across his tongue to —

Eren threw open the door again, giving Levi a deeply puzzled look. “What the fuck?” he said. “Are you coming inside, or what? It’s cold as shit out here.”

* * *

“I feel like you have a drinking problem,” Levi said from the kitchen.

“Oh my God, whatever,” Eren mumbled, sinking into the corner of the couch with his knees drawn up to his middle, one foot wagging against the back cushions. _Clink_ of empty beer bottles as Levi put them in the sink. Three slices of pizza still sat in the delivery box on the coffee table, a scattering of bottle caps across the napkins. The smell of pizza didn’t mix well with the sweet scent of his mom’s favorite candles, little flames dancing where they sat on the mantle. _Friends_ went to commercial. Eren stretched up to peek over the back of the couch, into the kitchen. “Why do you say that?” he said.

Levi nudged a box of random stuff out of the way with the heel of his foot as he came back out into the living room, sliding his hands down his sides and into his hip pockets, plain white T-shirt wrinkled from existing under his work shirt all day. Little flick of the brow Eren loved, twitch of a sly smile. But his eyes were sort of clouded and dark, a bit flighty, like he was still painfully ashamed of everything that had happened.  

“Well,” he said on a sigh, “I don’t know, the empty Pinot in the recycling and the half-empty in the fridge. I don’t see any dirty glasses, but I guess drinking straight from the bottle when you’re home alone is sort of hardcore and sexy.”

Eren narrowed his eyes at him over the side of the couch, frown half-hidden by his shoulder. “I don’t have a drinking problem,” he grumbled. “That’s over the span of almost a week. And I used a glass. I washed it. Earlier today.” 

Levi lingered there in the threshold to the kitchen, brows just gently raised, in that soft and quiet indifference that was far from actually indifferent, Eren had learned. He offered a quick smile, lifted his brows a bit higher — in his coat pocket, on the rack near the door, his cell phone chirped for some new activity. With a soft creak of the floorboards under one foot, he went to check it. Stood scrolling through some notifications, free hand tucked in his back pocket. Smooth shoulders, smoother arms. Hair falling in his eyes. God, he was so attractive. Eren hated him for it — in the right way, anyway. Hated how defenseless he was to him.

His eyes drifted around to the front door itself. The tarnished handle. The dents, scratches in the paint. Foggy glass. Moments. A sudden surge of — of _moments_ —

Mom, coming home from work years and years and years ago, hanging up her sweater, smiling, laughing, catching Eren against her hip as he bounded down the hall. _Mom, me and Armin are Power Rangers, watch!_ So many mornings leaving for school, glaring at the door as he pulled on his shoes. _There’s snow, Mom, why don’t we have a snow day? Eren, do you have your lunch? Eren, your homework’s on the table_ — Mom and Dad whispering together tensely, there near the coat rack, Mom with her favorite autumn beret cap and flashing eyes, Dad with his pinched frown and light catching in his glasses like light caught in the glass of the porch door as it clattered shut behind Eren — _Mom! The Admissions letter, I got in!_ The shape of her there day in and day out, her hair, her hands, her glance,  her laughter, her gardening gloves and dirt-smudged overalls, the bags under her eyes after a very long day, pen stuck behind her ear, that time they had to sprint from car to door and back again with groceries because the rain didn’t give them a chance to get inside before it came down and the way she’d shaken her hair at him and he’d shaken his back and Levi coming in one fall day not even out of grad school yet, _Hello, how are you_ and his mom in the kitchen, _Don’t mind my son_ — Mom at the door, _Is Jean bringing you home tonight, sweetheart?_ and _I’m going to Rosie’s later, Eren, don’t wait for me for dinner, okay?_ and Levi, coming inside tonight from the nippy February evening, head low, blue-grey eyes jumping, peeling off his scarf and coat, tugging off his shoes, repentant and reluctant to accept the forgiveness because he didn’t think he deserved it, he never thought he deserved it, and it drove Eren insane not because he agreed but because someone, something, had to have made him that way and it enraged him —

“Do you remember when we first met?” Eren asked.

Levi looked up with just his eyes, skeptical little half-laugh. “Jesus, Eren. No.”

“I was like, twelve. And you were what, twenty-five? No. Twenty-four?”

“Twenty-two. Math. Can we please not?”

Eren laughed, letting his head fall gently back against the arm of the couch. Lashes lowered, smile lingering like a ghost. Fading. Fading away. He was reluctant to let it go but it was going; his brow knotted and his throat tightened up a little.

He stuck a leg out and pushed the coffee table an inch or two out of the way with the ball of one foot, swung up and off the couch and wandered down the hall.

“What are you doing?” Levi called.

It was weird. It was so weird to be alone just the two of them and his mom’s kitchen, his mom’s furniture, his mom’s decorations (what he hadn’t packed up, and unpacked, and half-packed again, still not sure what he really wanted to do with it all).

He had never been alone in this house with Levi.

He couldn’t decide whether it felt like sneaking a date while the parentals were out of town or like having his own place and having a real, grown-up, adult affair.

All Eren knew was that he missed her right now, and it was fucking _weird_ to be in the house just him and Levi because it felt wrong his mom was not there, too.

Eren nudged open the door to her room and crawled up on her bed to lay down with his back to the door. Listened to Levi coming down the hall swift but hesitant, heard him brush into the doorway.

“I want to lay in her scent,” Eren explained quietly, without turning around.

“God … ” Behind him, Levi issued a gentle sigh. “You’re definitely a writer.” 

Eren smiled weakly, because it was very true.

_Friends_ buzzed distantly in the living room. Tinny cued laughter. Ross’s ex was marrying her girlfriend and Phoebe was possessed by the spirit of a sassy old woman. Levi moved over to the bed; it creaked, sank, under his knee. He laid down slowly behind him; goosebumps raced up and down Eren’s back for the next-to-nothing distance between Levi’s body heat and his. Levi shifted. His arm bumped Eren’s side — kept going — wound its way around there like it belonged there and Eren stiffened.

The clock on his mom’s dresser ticked away. Nothing meant anything to that ticking. It would go on no matter what happened under its unfeeling tempo.

“It’s fine,” Levi muttered, ticklish against Eren’s ear. He must have realized he was waiting, gauging the capacity for … whatever it was, because it wasn’t cuddling. He tugged, gently. Eren acquiesced without a second thought, wriggling back until they folded comfortably together. Searching blindly, Levi’s hand wandered up his chest. Found his arms, knotted over his face. Pulled. Eren sighed, yielding to his warm fingers. Drawing his hands down. Dusting along his wrist. Slowly, carefully. Like he wanted confirmation Eren understood _his_ confirmation.

Focus fading out in eyes at half-mast, Eren’s stare hung vacant on the wall near the bed. There was a mild sense of transgression, to be in his mom’s room — in her room with Levi. The room itself felt heavy yet bright at once. Bright in feeling, if a little stuffy. Heavy with emptiness. Emptiness that was the absence of something. Her bedroom felt more like standing at her grave with flowers than actually standing in the cemetery with flowers. That was just fresh grass and a slab of stone. This was everything about her that was real —

Holy fucking shit, he was in love with Levi.

Maybe.

Maybe he just loved him. If there was a difference. He didn’t know. It was just nothing like the shy, sugary sort of affection between him and Jean, love drunk and lust high. But then again, he wasn’t sure he’d been in _love_ with Jean.

In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever been in love at all before.

Well, fuck.

He wrote it, sure, but romance novels usually stopped around the peak of falling in love and left the happily ever after for the reader to daydream. Romance novels and movie plots had infrastructure. Everyone understood the formula. For the most part. 

_Don’t fall_ —

Eren’s brow knotted; he scowled at the wall like it kept the answers from him, somewhere under that smooth paint. Jesus, this was not supposed to be an existential crisis in which he questioned the integrity of his career, too. He’d almost thought it last Sunday, in the apartment, alone with the paper hearts and the Sticky notes and _Oh my God, I love him_.  

That didn’t mean anything, though. He hadn’t almost thought, _God, I am so in love with him_ , after all.

Fucking _shit_ , but what if he was? No, impossible, this was Levi. His mom’s friend Levi Ackerman — _Levi_. Older than him. Beyond him. Too good for him. Familiar stranger. Unfamiliar friend. Levi. No longer a stranger. Not at all. He was not in love with him. It was just that safe, shared loneliness. That _draw_ he’d felt on New Year’s, physical and personal and not at all romantic. Those ringing pauses in the movies, the ones right before the tension snapped and the hero or the heroine dropped that log line. Eren just _wanted_ him. Everything about him. Cool grey-blue glances, charming smirk. Good days. Bad days. His fucking alarm way too early in the morning. The way he swung his keys on one finger into his palm, out of his palm, back. His nervousness when Erwin and Eren were in the same vicinity. His bizarre obsession with laundry being done a certain way. The sweet fever hot of his skin, his mouth, his presence across the room on days there were not kisses or tentative tangles on the couch watching television when they both should have been working. That koi tattoo on his side. The way he tried to be so quiet when he came home late from a night drinking after work with Erwin and Hanji. The conviction with which he rejected pizza crust as unworthy of consumption. The way he smiled without a word at Eren sometimes like Eren wasn’t looking right at it.

And if melting for things like that instead of the typical romantic things for which he melted with someone like Jean meant he was in love, well, fuck it, he’d be in love.

No way in hell could he tell Levi. He was making it too hard on him already. It was an accident. If it was happening, anyway. He didn’t do it on purpose. He was a real fucking hypocrite, wasn’t he, to demand honesty of Levi while he laid here and forgot how to breathe because —

“Your told your dad,” Levi said.

No pause, no preface. Point blank. Eren was already bristled; his face pinched as he blushed furiously in guilt and secondhand shame. Thoughts shorted out. Reluctantly, he lifted his head a bit to glance at Levi over his shoulder. But Levi didn’t look uncomfortable or displeased. Just wearied and guilty, himself.

“Yeah,” he edged out, feeling quite awkward now. “I told him. But he kind of figured it out already.”

Levi nodded.

Eren’s face twisted. “When the fuck did you … ?”

“I ran into him at the store on Sunday.”

With a defeated sigh, Eren turned away again, reached over to draw idle shapes on Levi’s knuckles with one finger. “I told him as little as I could,” he mumbled. 

“You called me your boyfriend.”

Eren rolled his eyes kindly. “What’d you want me to say, non-romantic not-boyfriend? Lover? Certain Strings Attached?” 

“Fair,” Levi granted.

“Is that why you thought I wanted it?” Eren drummed a thumb against Levi’s wrist, the bruise of fault tender and sore deep in his chest. _I told Jean, too_ buzzed at the back of his tongue. But Levi didn’t really need to know that one. It was a bit less imperative. “Because I told him? Said ‘boyfriend?’ I wish you’d just tell me things.” Like how he hated his birthday. Like how things got on the day his mom died. Like …

“I don’t know why I did it,” Levi said, burying the words in Eren’s hair.

“Yes, you do,” Eren countered — impatiently, but without blame or contention.

Levi was quiet a moment, motionless. Finally he said, “The manuscript.” Eren tried to roll around and give him a disapproving look but Levi’s arm tightened, kept him in place. “Not telling you about New York. And whatever the fuck else I didn’t realize or might do later. Because I want you. In my own weird, fucked-up way, I want you, I’m invested in you, and I guess when I feel that way about people, I do things to trick them into staying with me even though I don’t want to give them what they give me.”

Holy shit, Eren hadn’t expected Levi to actually tell him things. Not right off the bat, anyway.

“I probably have abandonment issues or something. Or maybe it’s just some compulsion because I feel like a failure. But it’s selfish. It’s fucking greedy and I — ” 

“Don’t do that,” Eren snapped.

Levi’s body tensed. Eren could practically feel the scowl scoring his face, the impatience of self-conscious hesitation. “Do what?”

“Act like you’re such a monster,” Eren whispered. “Plenty of people are afraid of being alone, Levi.”

Quiet. Soft, defeated quiet, in the dark of his mother’s room. Levi’s body heat. The rise and fall of him with each sigh. God, his mom’s scent still on the bedding. Warm and sweet. She was everywhere. And over his shoulder, the familiar smell of Levi’s skin. His hair. His clothes.

Levi drew a slow, deep breath, sighed against Eren’s neck. Eren shivered and wiggled a little in rebuke for tickling him.

“Why did you just — you know, leave?” Levi asked.  

Eren thought about it. Really he was just reluctant. His hand left Levi’s; he fidgeted, crossed his arms, foot nudging against Levi’s knees as he adjusted his legs a little. Levi’s arm slipped lower from the gentle jostle, draped lazily in the dip just above his hip.

“I guess to see if I can do it,” Eren confessed.  

Levi turned his face gently to and fro against the crown of his head.

“I don’t think that I can.” Eren watched the wall through his lashes, trying not to lean too far back into the affectionate press of Levi’s nose. “I think I forgot how. After everything … it’s pathetic. I know. Especially after my mom, I just — can’t. And if you’re selfish and greedy, so am I, and I’m sorry I use you so I’m not alone, too.”

“So what is this, then?” Levi asked after a moment. “A pinch point?”

Fucker. Referencing the romance novelist’s beat sheet term. Eren fought a pouty smile, shaking his head. A Pinch Point, really. “No,” he said. “I think maybe it’s the real Point of No Return.”

Levi chuckled below his breath.

“What?” Eren grunted. He pushed Levi’s arm away so he could roll over, left just enough space between the two of them so only his knees bumped Levi’s as he got comfortable again. “What’s funny about that?”

“I just … ” Levi shrugged limply, held Eren’s gaze with the ghost of a smile. “Maybe you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he conceded.

Eren’s eyes widened and something in his chest dropped in the weirdest way, bottomed out his stomach, bottomed out his heart, bloomed hot and thick in the pit of his chest. That was a little much to live up to. Mouth dry, voice paper-thin between his lips, he said, “ _What?_ ”

Levi chuckled again, half a scoff. “Easy now,” he teased, but his glance was still pointed. Couldn’t be _too_ vulnerable, of course. Baby steps. “Being with you, I mean. Because you won’t let me lose sight of who I am. And I sure as fuck didn’t expect that.” 

_Did what you weren’t supposed to_ …

“I hate you,” Eren grumbled. “Getting all sentimental again. Aren’t you exhausted by now? I’m fucking drained. I’m over it. No more feelings for the rest of the night.”

“Yeah.” Levi’s smirk softened into a little half-grin, flash of teeth in a silent laugh as he rolled away, pressed off his elbows to sit up and toss dark hair out of his cool, clear eyes. His glance slipped back to Eren through his lashes, the smile lingering a bit, the shadow of it at least as Eren peered up at him from his mother’s pillow. “Trust me,” Levi husked. “I hate you, too.”

It was almost — almost — like Levi could see it written all over him.

_You weren’t supposed to._

“Cool, now move,” Eren grunted, pushing back. “I need to get a little more work done tonight and I’ve lost enough time between this and going back to your place now. Also, I still haven’t replied to Marcia’s e-mail ripping me a new one for not engaging with any promo stuff on Valentine’s Day.”

Levi rolled his eyes and Eren wished so desperately to knew what his smile meant. But he wasn’t going to ask.

Maybe he loved him. Maybe he didn’t and this heat in him was just being lonely and thankful to have him.

Whatever it was, Eren just wanted to make sure that smile stayed on Levi’s face.

 

 

**end ch. xvii**


	18. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, we should have dinner with your dad.” Eren’s heart fell through his stomach and he sat up fast. “What? Why?” // Mother’s Day. Mother’s Day. Mother’s Day. // He wanted to take care of him. // New York’s Greenwich Village reminded Levi a little of Seattle. // Jean glanced up without lifting his chin. “I just worry. That you’re too in love with the idea of love to fall in love, yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **merry christmas** (happy holidays) **ya filthy animals!!** here’s something to get you through the horrors of family gatherings. i've been deathly ill the last 5 days and looking at a screen longer than a few minutes makes me sneeze and get all watery-eyed but i am heckin determined to get this updated as a gift to you all, i miss you and i miss our stupid stubborn boys  
>  all these song pairings can be found on spotify – **haux** | _homegrown_ , **adna** | _beautiful hell_ , **isaac gracie** | _terrified – demo_ , **indian lakes** | _breathe, desperately_
> 
> * note! thank you guys for your unending support! i don't update nearly consistently enough to host a **patreon** , but if you're feeling so kind, i do have a **[ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/themissinglenk)**. or you can check out my book that just came out! [it's right here](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25094252-the-missing). it's got ghosts and murderers and Victorian-era ghost hunters, and the main character identifies as gender-queer/nb. if you like it, tell your friends, too!! you guys are so awesome. this is the reason i write. (besides, you know, loving it myself lol)

To: 425-778-3011

_what’s it like?_

From: 425-778-3011

_?_

To: 425-778-3011

_oh, it’s Eren btw_

From: 425-778-3011

_I know. What’s what like?_

To: 425-778-3011

_loving someone who can’t love you back_

* * *

The Ravenna Tudor looked sad and tired in the dark, once the porch lights were off, doors locked, curtains drawn. Pizza boxes in the recycling. Glass bottles, too. Eren made sure to slip a note into Armin’s grandpa’s mailbox, thank him for his help around the place.

 _Maybe you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me_ … Levi, dark hair falling in his eyes. Chest shifting and falling with peaceful breaths. Smell of his skin, so familiar and warm. Could one describe a scent as _warm_? That was the only way to put it, Eren thought. 

Levi took the freeway home. Eren took the back way.

Or — not really the back way, but a detour. He wasn’t sure why. He just sort of wanted to roll through the places to which he’d become a stranger the last few months. Circle around Roosevelt High, the park, down 55th past the cemetery and his mom’s usual grocery store. Edge of Hawthorne Hills, down Sand Point Way onto 45th, right hand sliding lazily up and down the steering wheel and elbow propped against the driver’s side door with loose knuckles framing his cheek. U-Village and the university campus didn’t count; Montlake was too familiar. Past the Ave, through the quirky little Wallingford neighborhood. Seattle hummed around him, blurred like watercolor between the windshield wipers, splash of headlights, starburst of brake lights as he slid onto Aurora Avenue.  

_So what is this, then? A pinch point?_

5th Avenue, Arbor Pointe Tower apartments.

Levi had waited for him in the parking garage, leaned back against his car and scrolling on his phone, the only breathing thing in all the yellow-lit concrete and smooth car metal.  

“You still haven’t gotten that scrape fixed?” he asked after Eren parked a few spots down in the usual guest space and elbowed open the driver’s side door.

Eren laughed, brow knotting meekly. “What, from Erwin’s car? Nope.”

“You’re a mess.”

“You could have gone inside. I took forever.”

“It’s fine.”

 _Fall in love with you? Don’t worry, I haven’t_.

In the spare room, Eren dropped his bags down at the foot of the borrowed bed. He waited a moment with his back to the rest of the apartment, just listening to the close of the front door, the chatter of Levi’s keys sliding across the counter. Flop of his jacket on the coat rack and his footsteps, muffled by carpet, soft tap on tile.

For a moment, just a moment, Eren was disoriented.

The place smelled so familiar to him. More familiar to him than home that was maybe not home right now. The smell of the apartment rolled through him, the kind of pause where scent became synonymous with emotion. Subtle hint of regular laundry soap, leather of Levi’s jacket and his desk chair and sweetness of decorative candles and tang of him, _Levi_ , smelled like —

Home.

Eren caught a glimpse, over his shoulder, of Levi across the apartment lingering in his bedroom doorway. Just standing there between his closet door and the bed. A slant of light from the bathroom fell out behind him; his shoes were off, nudged to the side. He looked wilted and uncertain, guilty yet from the evening’s clash, drained from the honesty maybe. Thumbs stuck in his hip pockets, fingers curled, as he stretched one ankle with socked foot rolling against carpet.

His cool, clear eyes pinned Eren hostage across the apartment. Knowing — knowing him maybe more than Eren expected he did. Seeing. Asking. A little smile tugged at the corner of Eren’s mouth; he raised his brows. 

For as not typical as they were, they were pretty fucking typical.

Eren crossed the apartment just short of hurried. His arms closed snug around Levi’s sides; Levi’s fingers hooked in his empty belt loops, tugged, lifted Eren half a step forward on toe as their mouths met. Surge of tender adrenaline for the warmth and the softness of Levi’s lips — fuck, he was weak, for how fast he went into withdraws from Levi’s body, flood of oxytocin that every brushing touch coaxed loose. Almost embarrassing, the spark of Levi’s fingertips on his jaw and the jump of his heart. Why, why did it move him so hopeless and deep to exorcise the tension like that — the raw feeling, the language of touch — thrill of the forbidden, but it wasn’t forbidden, just felt too good to be true. Too good for him.

There was a long, quiet moment of mouths, and tongues, saying more than words could have. There was no sex, but they slept together. Didn’t fall asleep as close as they’d lain together in his mother’s bed, but it was close enough.

_I hate you._

_Yeah, I hate you, too_.

In the gray fuzz before sunrise, Levi rose slow and stretching, fumbling for his cell phone to turn off his alarm. Eren yanked the blankets above his head to try and drown out the rush of his morning shower, tap of toothbrush at the bathroom sink, blooming smell of tea in the kitchen and Levi’s short little morning sighs like he so loathed having to join the world yet again. With a careful finger or two, Eren cleared his eyes and squinted out over the pillow at the creeping dawn. Seabirds called outside the bedroom window. He curled his toes, cold. Finally he unfolded himself from the nest of warm comforter, remembering that first night and that first morning after and literally falling out of Levi’s bed, hiding there wondering how the fuck he’d ended up there in the first place.

 _I barely know you_.

 _Get to know me, then_ …

Scraping noise of Levi’s keys, front door closing. And then it was Eren’s turn to get up and zombie his way into the day.

* * *

From: 425-778-3011

_It’s hard, but it’s not something you can explain._

_I think it’s something different for everyone._

* * *

“Marcia,” Eren said, dragging a hand down the side of his face with the shadow of a pout, “I’m not doing the book tour thing, I told you. I have a pen name for a reason. Witness protection.”

The Skype connection stuttered for just a moment or two, Marcia somewhere in a work tower in New York where the sunlight was bright but probably still cold as it lit up her office. Her frown was hard if mildly sympathetic, sigh gently impatient as she leaned forward towards her computer with arms folded on her desk. “Sales are going down, though, Eren … ” Her voice wavered only a little bit through the video chat. “You know, if everyone knew more about you, they’d probably go up.” Little laugh. Creak of her chair. 

“Maybe.” Eren fiddled with a ballpoint pen as he sat hunched against his knees, perched on the edge of the couch. He glanced up once at Levi, who was at the patio door stretching his back like a cat, watching the snow. His pout deepened towards a grimace as he scooted his laptop around on the coffee table before him. “Like, first of all, I get it, association with Carla isn’t cutting it anymore. The soccer moms and lonely singles would flip their shit if they knew someone like me wrote their favorite smut books, not some other soccer mom or lonely single.”

“Eren. Ouch.”

“Sure. But that’s what I hear you saying, Marcia. Sales would go up because no one expects a cute young guy to be writing harlequins.”

“You think you’re cute?” Levi muttered, so only Eren could hear it, as he crossed through the living room into the kitchen. Flick of the brow. Ghosting smirk. Eren made a face at him. Very funny.

Marcia sighed again, veritably deflating at her desk. She held her temple in a dainty hand, raising her brows. “You’re very charming,” she said, half truthful and half exasperated. “Okay, what about just a _real_ author photo?”

She was trying so hard. The publisher was probably pressuring her. Eren shrugged limply. “Can’t we use a stock photo?”

Behind him in the kitchen, Levi choked on a laugh and a drink of water. Eren turned around with a pinch of a miserable scowl; Marcia craned to see into the background of the webcam connection, to where Levi stood in the kitchen, face tightened as if fighting the urge to smirk for the accidental disruption. Eren’s scowl fell away into a little half smile, dragging his lip back between his teeth, pleased Levi sometimes admired his more precocious moments. It _was_ an honest question, though.

Levi waved a hand, pressed his knuckles to his mouth as he cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said. 

Eren turned back to his laptop. Marcia was waiting for him, brows high again, expectant. _Who’s that?_ In the background, Levi lifted his water bottle in greeting. “Levi Ackerman,” he offered in greeting. “I worked with his mother.”

A little flustered by how much he liked having Levi introducing himself as part of his life, Eren checked the time on a wrist that bore no watch, scooting around so that he blocked Marcia’s view of the kitchen. “Hey, I have to go, Marcia.”

“Sure. Okay, hon.”

“We can talk about this more in e-mail? Try to work something out?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll shoot you an e-mail this afternoon.”

“Great. Hey, thank you for everything.”

Long sigh. Little smile. “Of course.”

They ended the Skype call and Eren closed his laptop before flinging himself across the couch in misery.

“You don’t mean that,” Levi remarked.

Eren rose up a bit, glaring at him over the back of the couch. “Mean what?”

Levi’s eyes flickered across him fast and cool, seeing things Eren didn’t even see himself. As always. “That you’ll work something out.”

Eren shrugged limply and sank back down onto the throw pillows, dropping his arms over his face. Probably not. He didn’t want to write them anymore. Harlequins. He just didn’t.

“Hey. We should have dinner with your dad.”

Eren’s heart fell through his stomach and he sat up again fast, more rigid this time. “What? Why?”

Levi shrugged, watching him through his lashes. Leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed along his sweatered chest. One thumb shifted against one elbow like he wanted to drum his fingers, struggled to maintain indifference even as he dared Eren to challenge the suggestion. Like he’d been charging himself for it, already been thinking about it. Spontaneous in that it was just out with it, but it had not been a spur of the moment decision. It was so strange still, sometimes, how his aversion came in waves. Eren couldn’t predict the tides — notice them, yes, he’d gotten better with that, but charting the stars on them was beyond him.

A heat rose prickling in his face, uncertain and a little hesitant. A _Meet the parents_ joke tugged at his tongue; he bit it back, admittedly more for his own comfort than Levi’s. He swallowed on a dry throat and wondered how the fuck he was more perturbed by the suggestion than Levi seemed to be.

“Why?” he said again.

“Because,” Levi replied flatly. He shifted his weight to the other foot — eyes darted away for just a moment before sliding back to Eren. “He brought it up when I ran into him.”

Ah. Right. Valentine’s Day. That.

“No,” Eren said. “Nooo — ”

Levi sighed, short and thin. “Yeah, well, it’s a little awkward and I figured it would be responsible before, you know, Paris.”

Eren frowned darkly at him over the back of the couch again. “True,” he mumbled. “But not tonight.”

Levi’s face pinched like he’d accidentally bitten his tongue. “Oh, no, fuck,” he said quickly. “For sure not tonight. Some other time. I was just saying.”

“We leave in like, a month,” Eren reminded.

“Yeah, I’m aware.” Levi pushed off away from the counter, rolling his eyes kindly. “My bank just posted the hotel reservation.”

“You need me to grab groceries this week?”

“Nah, I’ve got it.”

“Levi, if you won’t take rent from me, you’ve got to let me do _something_. Besides clean.”

Levi waved a hand dismissively as he disappeared into his bedroom. “You do enough.”

Eren rolled his eyes in turn and it felt good even though Levi wasn’t there to see it. He sighed, running his hands down his face and sagging back down flat to the couch, one leg hanging off the edge. Part of him was ready for that — the deliberately vindictive side of him, the defiant streak out of which he doubted he’d ever grow, out of which his mom had declared he’d never grow — to give it to his dad where he couldn’t deny it, couldn’t pretend it was anything but what it was.

Whatever … it was. He just wanted to sink into the pleasant pit of it that opened up below his heart. Just for a moment. And then it closed up again, and he cleared his throat, scrubbed at his face once more before letting his arms fall draped around his head.

“I’ll buy dinner tonight,” Eren decreed, raising his voice so Levi couldn’t pretend he didn’t hear him. “Amazon Prime some sushi or something.”

“Sure,” Levi called back, unmoved either way it seemed. But he really liked Amazon Priming sushi. Eren knew that; he liked it, too, anyway.

* * *

From: 425-778-3011

_You love him and there’s nothing you can do about it._

_I didn’t hate it._

* * *

February turned to March with an unexpected blanket of snow.

They slept side by side a few nights, Levi’s fingers flirting with the end of Eren’s shirt to dust at his hip while Eren’s skin burned warm and shiver soft under his hand, where it had fallen still resting there. He fell asleep close enough to feel Eren breathing as he drifted off with his fingers curled limply near Levi’s chest, and there was something about the pseudo-cuddling that felt good to him. Protective. Responsible. Dependable.

Even rise and fall of bodies in sync, in the morning detached and cockeyed like friends at a sleepover; falling asleep at night spread out comfortably only to wake up to Eren’s forehead smashed up against his shoulder as his knee sagged over against his. Sweet morning softness.

Just a few nights. That was it.

And then it was back to that pleasant lull where there wasn’t much touching, not much talk in an idle, comfortable way. Coexisting. Different beds. Appreciative simply of each other’s presence in the day to day — help bringing in the groceries or making dinner when someone was busy, leaving a light on when someone was home late — _There’s half a bottle of wine left if you want it_ — _Hey, it’s super icy out, you want me to drop you at the link rail station?_ — throwing themselves back into work with some unspoken understanding until the work stress and rush hour stress and campus stress and errands, chores, little things stress hit a friction pop. Grumbling over students’ final portfolio drafts or thesis meeting notes, manuscript edits or backlogged queries, all buckled for telling glances, flirty banter, feeling out where the mood was until the lazy, overdue lust charged the pause and pulled like static electricity. Funny, how such a casual, spontaneous thing could still be so personal. Sinking down to the bed tangled as neatly as if they’d been welded together, sensory overload, pinch of desperate pleasure and the smell of Eren’s skin. Good to know the sexless interim had left him just as defenseless to the touch, hips twitching at the close of Levi’s hand. Flashing eye contact in the dark, coy little grins and back arching as Eren wiggled out of his jeans. Pushed Levi’s shirt off the edge of the bed with his heel. Gave him that look, that altogether alluring and dangerous fixation like the way he’d looked at him on Erwin’s porch at New Year’s, distilled desire at once reckless and innocent, burning in his hazel eyes …

“Hey,” Eren called from his office closet one night, scooted over to lean out the door balanced on the edge of his chair.

“What?” Levi replied without looking up from a red-marked manuscript.

“I missed you.”

Levi smiled to himself, where maybe Eren couldn’t see it, flopping down the stack of pages and going back to his computer and all the tabs at the top of the browser window. “Yeah?” he murmured.

“Unfortunately,” Eren called as he scooted back around the corner, stubbornly, with a playful sigh of dissatisfaction.

New York’s Greenwich Village reminded Levi a little of Seattle. A bit less grungy than other neighborhoods, less skyscrapers and more trees along streets lined by cute little bakeries and incense stores, hipster bars and old Volvos parallel-parked in front of used book stores. The New York charm was still there in the timeless brick, the crooked fire escapes. Trash still lumped under _No Standing_ signs. The coffee in New York was subpar, and Levi hated how dry his hands got from using hand sanitizer after every subway trip up to Midtown. But there was a donut shop on Morton Street with Star Wars posters on the walls and a beet and ricotta donut that was surprisingly good. Isabel had made him try it; Isabel walked over from the east edge of Greenwich every Saturday morning for it. 

Levi leaned back in his desk chair with a satisfying, and much-needed, pop somewhere in his arched back, letting out a tired sigh as he stretched his arms up overhead.

Shit, it had gotten late fast; he’d lost track of time. Some TV show echoed low and fuzzy behind him. He turned around, elbow first, twisting halfway in his chair and opening his mouth to say something — but the living room was empty. Eren had moved into his room to stream shows on his laptop.

Slowly, Levi unfolded himself from the chair and drifted over to the open bedroom door. “Hey,” he said, “you can watch TV out here, it won’t bother … ”

The half husk of Eren’s duffel bag still sat at the foot of the spare bed, picked through for needed clothes but otherwise left the way it had been dropped a week or two before. Blinds closed, room dark. Eren curled up on the bed before his laptop, the light of which shifted and danced on his face as he slept — brow relaxed, lips gently parted, fingers curled limp with one arm under his face and the other propped on the wad of his blanket.

Levi watched him for just a moment, not really realizing he did so. Just sort of lingered, empty thoughts, absent stare. God, the kid would never change, would he? Not a kid anymore, of course, but forever affectionately _the kid_ to him. And again Levi took note of how his face had matured, subtly; how his hair framed its heart shape with a different softness; Carla in the shape of his eyes, the tip of his nose. A little bit more of his father’s mouth, Levi thought. And he was a man now, however much a man someone under thirty could be, and Levi squinted because maybe he’d left another too-obvious hickey the other night, oops.

On Valentine’s Day, Levi had felt a strange heaviness. He still didn’t know whether it was dread or guilt, disappointment, secondhand sadness for the fact that heartaches had to be felt and it was hard to watch from the outside. He felt it again here, if a little duller. In the rise and fall of his gentle breathing, Eren was still just as fragile as ever. Maybe Levi had seemed that fragile and lost back then, too, after his mother died. He didn’t know. He hadn’t had anybody to look at him like this and decide to take care of him.

Yeah … actually.

He did. He wanted to take care of him.

Eren fucking Jäger. 

The desk chair creaked as Levi sagged back down into it, out in the living room, one knee drawn up to his chest and foot on the edge of the seat as he minimized a Word window and brought back up the Internet. A handful of tabs still marching along the top — Zillow. Apartments.com.

Levi scrubbed a hand down his face and rubbed at screen-weary eyes for a moment before propping his chin in palm and clicking through some of the affordable (ish) options he’d saved earlier in the day. Greenwich Village 3rd Street studio with a storage loft that could easily fit a bed instead. The one brick interior wall added character, very _RENT_ -esque. On Sullivan Street, only a hundred dollars more for an actual one-bedroom. The wrought-iron on the cramped window terrace was cute, but the cabinets were ugly. The Minetta Lane unit was also pretty nice, renovated. Oh — Thompson Street. One-bedroom, basically same price. Cramped, but not bad. He liked the cabinets. And it was right by the donut place, too.

* * *

To: 425-778-3011

_thanks, i was just curious_

From: 425-778-3011

_Sure._

* * *

Mother’s Day was in two months, and Tea Republik was busy tonight, low lights and gentle bustle, warm conversation, sweet smells and faint music.

They’d spent a Mother’s Day at the water in Kirkland once, the park where Eren had gone with Levi that one night. Years ago, when Eren’s mom was still waitressing, and had bags under her eyes, and it had been sunny and she’d sat on the grass on a quilt from her grandmother reading a book under a sunhat as Eren and Armin played some semblance of catch. Running in circles, sloppy tosses, a baseball that bounced out of the mitt more often than not. Armin’s parents had been in South America then, on one of their humanitarian trips; Armin had talked Eren into giving his mother a bouquet of flowers from his grandparents’ shop. _Thank you, sweetie!_ she’d said, squishing him close with an arm gently hooked around his neck. Laughing as he endeavored to escape her kisses even before they came, raining down around his temple and ear. Laughing, filtered sunlight dancing on her bare arms, cool spring breeze tugging at her oversized floral-print shirt where it billowed gently tucked into the high waist of her jeans. _Both of you, thank you — !_

“I found my key,” Jean said, looking up with a tip of the chin and one of those quick little grins as Marco passed by their table near one of the tea shop’s front windows, bringing fresh, steaming drinks and plucking up their empty mugs. The smile was that kind of unthinking smile that was intimate the same it was absent-minded. The kind of smile like a casual little kiss without actually kissing.

Eren’s eyes slid over to Jean across the table they shared as Jean worked on research for a final paper and Eren shuffled through intro technique class final portfolios and writing journals.

Marco raised his brows, gave a playful little _Aha!_ with no sound that curled into a freckled smile as he straightened up and propped one knee against the arm of Jean’s chair. The collar of his shirt stuck out of the collar of his sweater, cute and crooked. “I found your ‘Star Wars’ mug,” he parried, and there it was, the not-kiss smile that matched Jean’s.

“Oh, thank God.” Jean leaned back in the chair, tugging off his beanie to rake his hands through his hair like he did when he was flirting or when he was worried. “I thought your dad might kill me if I used his any longer.” 

 _My key_.

 _Your mug_.  

 _Your dad_.

“Yeah, well, he probably would have killed you for losing the key before he killed you for using his Darth Vader mug, and before that _I_ would have killed you for losing the mug I got _you_.”

Jean’s grin deepened in those charming little dimples of his, eyes dancing. “Hey, what’d your mom say? About dinner?”

As he lifted his drink to his mouth, Eren's gaze darted to Marco.

“Oh, she’s stoked,” Marco murmured. “She’s already trying to plan a menu.”

“She’s adorable.”

“Thanks,” Eren said.

Marco looked over, dropping his knee from the chair; Jean followed suit, but harder, almost suspicious. And God, Eren really wished he’d stop worrying about having boyfriend and ex-boyfriend in the same vicinity. They were adults. They were both seeing other people. They were both … _Happy you’re happy_.

Eren raised his brows, offering an awkward smile. “For the tea,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Thanks for the tea?”

Marco perked in a bright smile. “Yeah,” he said. “No problem. It’s finals, man. I feel you guys.” The tea shop door opened and closed behind customers; Marco gave a little wave and a pat to Jean’s shoulder before skirting around towards the register again.  

Jean stared across the table at Eren. Eren stared back, brows still raised a little. Jean waited. Finally, Eren uttered a husk of a teasing scoff, because he knew he was expected to say something.

“Geez,” he said, “you might as well just move in with him, huh?”

Jean got comfortable in his chair again and drummed his fingers on the palm rest of his laptop. His mouth tightened, sheepishly; uncertainty dimpled his brow. “I mean … ” Neither of them had to say it. They both knew he stayed over at Marco’s a bit more than often. Jean, because he did the staying; Eren, because he could infer.

“He has a key to my place, too,” Jean said, as if that made any difference.

“Jesus Christ,” Eren mumbled, “you’re blushing.”

It was weird, how mellow it was to talk like they hadn’t once blushed together, too. Weird to not feel jealous so much as slightly wistful. Strange, the kind of friendship that came after sex and _We need to talk_. It was like a secret club, almost, one to which only they held membership, only they knew the code, only they took the pledge and spoke the rules.

“I’m not blushing,” Jean snorted. 

Eren cocked his brow. “You have your own key and a designated coffee cup at his house, and real, non-accidental dinner with the parents … man, you finally figured out how to be romantic, huh?”  

Jean cut his eyes up over to him with a cautious skepticism sharpening the glance, but he gave a little laugh, clinging to the edges of a limp smirk. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, but he knew. He knew Eren knew he knew.

_You’ve just got this all figured out, don’t you?_

“Listen,” Jean husked, flustered, and embarrassed, “it’s not like a meet the parents thing. It’s just Mother’s Day. We’re doing a joint Mother’s Day dinner, that’s all — ”

Mother’s Day.

Eren had been looking through pictures on Facebook the other day, flopped on the spare bed in Levi’s apartment post-shower. Swiping through Timeline photos, Album photos, tagged photos, author website with the _In Memory_ bullshit. Carla Jäger. Looking. Just looking at her because he was afraid he’d forget what she looked like. He hadn’t even visited her grave post-funeral yet, and that was messed up, wasn’t it? More messed up than having sex with her ex-editor friend the night of her fucking funeral. _Mother’s Day._ Grief was a sneaky thing. Grief with a capital G, its very own monster just sinking its teeth into him at the most unexpected and inconvenient of times.

The short laugh that stuttered from his throat sounded a bit harsher than he’d intended. “A little early to be planning that, don’t you think?” he teased.

Jean frowned, wordless.

“What?” Eren grunted. 

“Nothing.”

 _Mother’s Day_.

“Seriously?” Eren threw him an exasperated glance. “I swear to God, all of you — you, Armin, Mikasa, my _dad_. Stop treating me differently. It’s a holiday, no big deal. It’s not like it’s _your_ fault I’m not celebrating this year.”

“Eren … ” Jean said, but there was nothing that followed. Just a defeated little sigh, huff of breath into loosely curled fingers as his eyes drifted off elsewhere glumly. Caught the streetlights from outside, shivers of them off passing cars. Brow knotted, mouth in a thin line.

It was just that — Eren thought they were all beyond that at this point, though maybe unrealistically. The whole being hyperconscious of his every smile, every word thing, every time they hung out like they were all just waiting for the Boy in the Grieving Bubble to pop again. But God damn, it had been five months since the funeral. He didn’t need the scrutiny. It was like staring into the sun when all he wanted to do was shield his eyes.

Eren cleared his throat, took another slow sip of his drink for good measure before drawing one leg up to prop his heel on the edge of his chair. “So it’s a meet the parents joint Mother’s Day dinner,” he verified, because Jean could balk all he wanted but it was obvious. Dinner with the parents on Mother’s Day. _Joint_ dinner. Doubly romantic. Triple romantic.

“Eren,” Jean said again.

“No, it’s cool.” Eren shrugged. “I’m just asking. I’m not being bitter.”

“You’re being a little bitter.”

“Salty, maybe,” Eren mumbled.

Jean perked in a dry smile, like Eren’s cynicism still managed to strike him as endearing, at least. “I guess salty is better than bitter.”

“I’m just saying.” Eren shrugged limply. “You know, just — we were past the three-month mark and the most romantic thing you ever did was ask me out on that fucking coffee cup. I mean, Jesus Christ, Levi is aromantic and he’s more romantic than you.”

The smile faded and a look of betrayal eclipsed Jean’s face a moment, brow knotted and mouth open. “That is so not true,” he finally said. 

“Jean, you broke up with me the day of my mother’s funeral.” 

Jean’s gaze flickered away, bright and sharp in the dim tea shop. He dragged his hand down his face then pressed his mouth into his knuckles a moment, slipped his palm along to rub at the side of his neck as his eyes bounced around the place searching for anything, anywhere, to land to brace for the guilt he very much knew he deserved and which Eren was forcing him to revisit.

It wasn’t like Eren didn’t feel a bruise, too. That was just part of being an ex. They could say _happy you’re happy_ all they wanted, but there would always be that place inside that felt like a practice game. 

And Eren wondered, suddenly, when Jean had stopped using _Babe_ as a cool guy casual term of endearment for anyone, not just an SO.

“Okay,” Jean muttered finally, voice ragged. “That was shitty. I know. And I’m really sorry. I regret it. I was scared I wouldn’t be able to do it after that. And that’s not an excuse, but I … ”

“Scared?” Eren scoffed. “Why? Because you’d have to be there for me as more than a friend? You’d feel obligated to love me or something?”

_I like you, Eren. You’re a fucking good friend of mine. But I don’t think we should date anymore._

Jean’s gaze flashed over him like a window breaking, appalled. “That is such _bullshit_ ,” he husked, eyes narrowing. “Don’t be a dick. You know I’m here for you. You just won’t believe it.”

“Okay,” Eren said, though it wasn’t really a concession so much as a segue. “But like — remember that night we were on the Pier, and we went in the Ferris Wheel? And you were like ‘Why are you staring at me?’ And I said, ‘I don’t know.’ Well, you were supposed to kiss me, that would have been super romantic, right, kissing at the top of the Ferris wheel with the stars and the city and how fucking _hard_ is that? I kept ‘forgetting’ my toothbrush, and clothes and stuff, but you never told me to just leave it for next time. I only had a spare key under the mat. You only gave me your jacket when I asked, we couldn’t figure out a song for us, on our two-month anniversary I lit all those candles to be romantic-sexy and you blew them out before we had sex, I could never figure out what kind of little gifts you were into, like, flowers? Watches? Cards? Colognes? Because you just couldn’t take a hint — ”

 _I don’t know what the fuck you want in a relationship but I don’t think I can give it to you_.

Jean gawked at him from his side of the table, the shadow of injury more than guilt darkening his face.

“Eren,” he said thickly, “you never _said_ any of that to me.”

The last Mother’s Day before his dad moved out, he’d ushered Eren’s mom out to a spa day with one of her girlfriends and Eren had helped him, or tried to help him, put together a fancy dinner for when she got home. More flowers. Always flowers. His mother had loved flowers. Flowers in the house, flowers on the back patio. And before Eren had been able to sit down to his plate, with his glass of sparkling juice like his parents hadn’t wanted him to feel left out by their glasses of wine, his mom grabbed him around the middle and crushed him into another one of her wiggling hugs despite his insistence he was too old for that. He’d let her rock to and fro, saying, “You both make me feel so special!” And Eren had just gone limp in her arms, pouting across the kitchen at his father, who leaned back against the counter with his sleeves rolled up, cleaning his glasses on the end of his shirt. Smiling. A smile Eren understood now. The tired, bittersweet smile of knowing everything ends —

Jean cleared his throat, shifting a little in his chair. “So when are you going to tell them?” he asked. “Armin and Mikasa. About this guy Levi.”

He waited for Eren to stop being stubborn and just look at him, with a little arc of the brows. Frustrated, almost. Sort of sad, maybe. Exasperated but hopeful. Eren blushed, if only for one quick throb of the heart, to know that Jean remembered Levi’s name. It wasn’t like they talked about him a lot. It wasn’t like there was any other reason for him to remember. Except, of course, that it was the guy Eren had gotten drunk and slept with the night of his mother’s funeral after Jean had invited him over. And God damn, Jean should still hate him for that. And yet he didn’t. Not enough. He listened that night Eren slept on his couch. He listened and he didn't hate him. He said  _I'm happy you're happy_ not like he'd dodged some bullet but like he actually fucking was.  

Mildly flustered, Eren pulled his sweater sleeve down over his palm, soft and warm against his chin as he dragged his thumbnail along the ridge of his teeth. “I’ve told them I’m dating someone,” he finally mumbled.

“Uh huh,” Jean murmured with a dry little perk of the mouth.  

“I didn’t want to say anything in case it wasn’t serious.”

“And?”

“It’s only been five months.”

“But four months was so imperative for us?”

Something in Eren’s spine tightened up, cold and sharp; he cut Jean a glance, but Jean was stalwart. Just daring him to argue that one.

Maybe the trip to Paris had been a Mother’s Day plan for herself. His mom. And Eren hadn’t really thought about it that way yet. _Paris_. His mom’s trip. He was taking it. She wasn’t there to take it. It wasn’t for him. It was hers and she was dead so she couldn’t go on it and he was taking it with Levi of all people of all reasons and it was going to be his first Mother’s Day without her.

“I just worry.” Jean shrugged, frowned at his computer.

“About what?”

“That you’re too in love with the idea of love to fall in love, yourself.”

“That’s not true,” Eren snapped, offended and appalled and — and _Because I’m in love with him_ was what came next, but the words shrank back. Coiled up in his throat as his breath caught between his teeth and he felt tiny suddenly, sitting slumped across the table from Jean. Tiny and brittle and defenseless, eyes wide. 

 _Don’t fall in love_.

It was real … wasn’t it.

His mother was dead, he was maybe in love with her friend, and they were going on a trip to Paris which he’d inherited with a house and royalties and a renewing option contract for one of her books and it was all fucking real.  

“You know,” Jean said, utterly without cruelty but not entirely without impatience. “You had this look when you first told me about him. Like you used to look with us. Except now it’s like you actually mean it.”

Dismayed, Eren just gawked at him. A brief surge of panic — or guilt, or something — sent his stomach knotting sick, exhilaration and dread at once. Jean raised his brows, pressed his mouth in a thin line that was just shy of a bittersweet smile. There was a spark of remorse in his eyes, something dull but unyielding.

He understood. Eren knew he understood and Jean knew he knew he understood and why didn’t they ever just _say_ things to each other? God, Eren had been so stubborn, holding a grudge against him at first. But he’d never really … thought about it this way until now, hadn't yet found that moment of selfless clarity to remember that Jean had gone through the very same breakup as he had. _Theirs_.

Eren dragged his thumbnail along the ridge of his teeth, anxiously. Jean stared emptily at his laptop. The tea shop was a whirl of colors and lights and sounds, moving around them, moving without them, and God, Eren just wanted to fucking _talk_ to her. Ask her what the hell he was supposed to do with his life now that he basically owned a house and was halfway done with grad school and had been a real jerk to Jean and wanted to give up the smut books, and Levi … _Levi_. Maybe in love with her friend.  _Now it's like you actually mean it_. 

Fuck, Jean paid a lot more attention than Eren had ever given him credit for.  

“Is it that noticeable?” he asked after a moment, feeling rather pathetic for how tiny and defeated he sounded.  

Jean didn’t answer one way or the other. Maybe he didn’t really know the answer. Quietly, he just said, “I’m sorry.”

Eren knew what he meant — Mother’s Day. He meant for him and Marco. He meant for having to break it to him. _Too in love with the idea of love_.

“Oh, shit,” Eren lied, with a hard laugh and maybe a too obvious theatricality to really be convincing. “I completely forgot to switch the laundry and I don’t want it to get moldy just sitting there damp in the washer. Levi hates that. I mean, I hate it, too. It’s not a big deal, but, you know, responsible adult and shit.”

Jean watched him a moment, brows raised, before he conceded with a small sigh. Eren was done with that thread of conversation, and Jean let him be done. He'd done that since they broke up, just didn't fight it anymore like he felt like it wasn't his place now. Or like he'd learned how to weather those seas in ways Eren couldn't catch. He moved his hand to lean into an open palm, veritably pouting up at Eren as Eren shuffled his things together. Smooth jaw, broad shoulders in that denim jacket and baseball tee, ash blond hair fighting with his beanie again. There it was — there was the Jean he’d fallen for, cool guy Kirschtein. And that was … that was okay. _I think things are moving too fast_. Jean in the office. The teasing, subtle flirting. The kiss at Armin’s party, date scribbled on a coffee cup. Jean’s laughter, his arm around his shoulders. The smell of boyfriend jacket. His sweet, simple kisses to the ear or the forehead. The way he’d let Eren fall asleep on his couch that one night, after one of their first fights. When he’d told him. Aromantic. His mom’s friend. _Levi_.

He was happy he was happy with Marco. He really, really was. 

“What do you think I should wear?” Jean asked, redirecting the conversation deftly. “For the dinner?”

“Oh my God.” Eren rolled his eyes, shoving his stuff into his bag. A small smile twitched at his mouth. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I can come over and help you pick it out sometime if you want. Or send me pictures and I’ll tell you what looks stupid and what doesn’t. You have two months, dude. You’ll figure it out.”

Jean nodded, a smile of his own curling at his mouth. “Cool,” he said. “Sounds good.”   


	19. Like Breathing Was Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I miss it, sometimes."// The look on Eren’s face was like a kid about to be lectured, and it really did not make Levi feel any less old. // The Definitely, Maybe search for every copy of Jane Eyre and the poem in 10 Things I Hate About You and finally kissing on the mouth in Pretty Woman, at the piano — everything those things stood for. // Erwin nodded in a gentle pause, careful not to imply one opinion or the other. “Have you applied?” // "Fuck, Eren! Stop trying to write your own story and just be the main character for once!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **merry xmas** pt. deux! or should i say happy birthday, levi?? there are **so many** song pairings – **blackbear** | _idfc_ , **laura doggett** | _beautiful undone_ , **gert taberner** | _in need_ , **the xx** | _angels_ , **haux** | _cologne_ , **george cosby** | _all of your love_
> 
> ONE MORE AFTER THIS ONE, GUYS, WE'RE OFF TO PARIS
> 
> you guys are all amazing and i love to hear from you. if you're interested in non-fic of mine, check out [The Missing](https://www.amazon.com/Missing-Curious-Cases-Winchester-Black/dp/0996890475/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1514214917&sr=8-1&keywords=the+missing+lenk), it's got a gender queer protag hunting ghosts with his quirky friends in victorian london. or feel free to just visit my [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/themissinglenk) <3 <3 <3 xoxo

There were seven tabs open at the top of the web browser. Sitting cross-legged on the couch, Levi leaned forward to squint at the current page. He switched to another. Leaned back with a slow sigh through his nose and his mouth bitten into a thin line that scrunched one way and then the other in thought.

“You know, it’s going to be the same thing whether you’re looking from far away or up close,” Erwin remarked from the other corner of the couch, raising his brows slowly with the pinch of a playful smirk.

Levi sighed again, this time through a grave, thirty-something’s pout. He rolled his fork along the edge of his empty dinner plate, which was balanced on one leg, tiny  _clink_ of silverware on ceramic.

“Where are you looking?” Erwin asked, pulling his feet down from the coffee table to plant firmly and lean forward against his knees. Levi nudged the laptop around for him to see.

“So what’s the news?” Erwin asked next as he scanned the options, tapping from one tab to another.

“On the job opening?”

“It’s open?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s an opening.”

Erwin nodded in a gentle pause, careful not to imply one opinion or the other. “Have you applied?”

Levi scooted his computer back around to himself.

Erwin was not fazed by the lack of response; he knew it well enough by now. “Isabel put in a word for you, though, right? And you haven’t applied yet.”

“That is, indeed, the case.”

“Do you not want it?”

Levi shrugged, pout softening, decreasing in age appropriateness. He kicked his legs off the couch and swung up to his feet to take his empty plate to the kitchen. “Hanji, did you get that wine open yet, or what?”

“Levi,” Erwin said.

“What wine, anyway?” Levi asked.

“Oh, malbec.”

“It’s a twist-top? Well, aren’t we the pinnacle of class.”

“Ooh, shut up,” Hanji said through a snicker. “It was fifteen bucks and I’ve had it before.”

“Wait, isn’t this the one you — ”

“Yes, that was a bad night.”

“ _Levi_.” 

“ _Erwin_ ,” Levi parried, same tone of voice, but with a little harsher of a glance.  _What?_ that look demanded, still somewhat pouty.  _What the hell do you want me to say?_ “Hey,” he blurted then, finding the perfect diversion, “I’m going to Paris later this month.”

“Wait, wh — ” Hanji lost her grip on the wine as she opened it; the bottom of the bottle thudded dully on the countertop. Looking around as if to make sure the other two didn’t see — they did — she issued a guilty little chuckle then snapped her eyes around to Levi, trying again. “What? Paris? Why?”

Levi took the bottle of wine and rounded the island counter back into the living room, flopping down with one foot propped on the coffee table just to the side of his laptop. With a modest sip from the bottle, before handing it over to Erwin to try, he said, “One of Carla’s friends basically paid for Eren to take a trip, and he asked me to go. So we’re going.”   

Erwin swallowed his sip of wine with a little press of the lips, dart of tongue. Not looking at Levi, though Levi knew he wanted to, in that protective and sort of tenured way of his as Ex. The man privileged with insight on Levi no others could match, being the First Boyfriend, the one who’d been there from the beginning, who had charted the seas of loving him with no map or compass and had something he wanted to say but wouldn’t unless asked.

“Man,” Hanji said, plopping down between them with a clean wine glass and reaching for the bottle in Erwin’s hands. “I remember when you first told us about this guy, I was like, no way in hell. No way is this working.”

“Thanks for the confidence,” Levi mumbled. “Hanji, just drink from the bottle, I don’t feel like hand washing glasses tonight.”

Hanji issued a friendly little scoff. “I’m classy, boy,” she grumbled back, filling half her glass but still taking her first sip from the bottle. “Anyway,” she said, “yeah, I didn’t think it would work. Not because of you, but because, you know, I mean,  _him_. The whole situation.”

“Thanks,” Levi said again, dryly, with his head tipped back against the couch and his knees drawn up as he held out his hand for the wine bottle.

“In a good way! Like, not because I didn’t  _want_ it to work, but because I care for you.”

“I know what you’re saying, Hanji.”

“I was just like, man, this is weird. Let’s see what happens.”

“Hanj, I got it.”

“But.” She held up a finger, whittling down into a moment of real seriousness. “You’re happy,” she said then, as she settled back into the corner of the wraparound couch, feet tucked up beneath herself.

“He’s good for you,” Erwin said.

Levi’s eyes slid to him over the bottle of red, tipped back for a drink. And as he lowered it, Erwin just stared at him, not really smiling but not really frowning either, just looking at him. Like he knew something Levi didn’t. And maybe it was what Hanji said, just their outsider’s perspective of him lately, but maybe it wasn’t, and Levi’s first instinct was to make a face at him to dispel the vulnerable moment, but he refrained. This wasn’t the time for it. Finally, he just nodded, and took another sip of wine before stretching out to set it on a coaster. He cleared his throat and leaned back again, crossing his arms comfortably.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s definitely different this time.”

Something in Erwin’s eyes shifted. His mouth tightened in a little smile; his glance darted around Levi’s face,  _almost_  spitefully,  _almost_  offended …

There was a shuffle at the front door, from the apartment hall. Thud of maybe an arm, twist of the knob to test if it was locked or not. The door flew open but was caught and reeled back before it hit the wall as Eren came in like a storm, dropping his jacket wherever it landed, kicking off his shoes —

With his satchel bag hanging half off his shoulder, arm out at an angle to keep it propped there above his elbow, he very clearly suddenly remembered it was Cranky Old People Dinner night, and he looked up and into the living room with the shadow of subdued horror falling over his face.

“Oh,” he said, wide-eyed and tense as Levi and Hanji and Erwin all stared at him from the living room. “Uh. Hi.”

He was pissed. Irritated about something, Levi knew; he could tell in the distracted spark of his hazel eyes as they bounced around the apartment, as he closed the front door with a bristled sort of control, knuckles tight on the doorknob and head hung above drawn shoulders. He pushed his shoes into a neater line with socked toes, stooped grudgingly to pick up his coat and properly hang it. He deposited his bag in his little closet office, then breezed through into the kitchen.

“Did we have any Angry Orchard left?” he husked.

“Wine,” Levi said.

“Malbec,” Hanji helped.

Eren skirted into the living room and hovered over the couch. With a bright smile, Hanji handed him the bottle. “Levi doesn’t want dirty glasses.”

Eren issued a little scoff of a chuckle. “Sounds about right,” he said around a careful swallow, bottle tipped back, fingers curled expertly at the neck. Tense fingers. Tense knuckles.

With a smack of a breath in separation, he passed the bottle back with a forced smile. “Thanks,” he said.

Levi drew a short, impatient breath. The kid was a mess. On one hand, it was kind of funny, the way he blew in like this just as Levi was telling his friends, without as many words, that things were really good. On the other hand, Levi was not in the mood for Eren Jäger theatrics.

“Have a bad night?” he asked.

“No,” Eren’s voice echoed as he disappeared into the laundry nook. “Shit, I really did leave my clothes in here … ”

Levi sighed through his nose, sliding his hands down his thighs as he unfolded himself from the couch. Sheepishly, he looked at Erwin even though he spoke to both him and Hanji.

“Give me a sec,” he said below his breath.

* * *

 

_Eight years ago._

“I can stay home,” Eren insisted, sitting on the kitchen counter and idly swinging feet hooked at the ankles. “Armin’s grandpa can check on me.”

At the breakfast table, traveling bag open and half-packed, his mom secured a strip of plastic wrap with a little rubber band around the top of a shampoo bottle. She cleared her eyes of tousled bangs with a small huff of breath, flicking Eren one of her patiently impatient glances.  _Uh huh_ , that look said.  _No_.

“Your dad is excited,” is what she said aloud, then held out a hand to him.

Eren issued a little sound of distaste, sucked at the back of his teeth as he tore another length of plastic wrap and leaned forth to pass it to her, heels thudding against the lower kitchen cupboards. Hair conditioner, toothpaste, face wash, other little bottles, wrapped and rubber banded lest the pressure make a mess of them during her flight to California.

Eren shrugged.

His dad being  _excited_ was his dad  _trying too hard_. Two weeks of it while his mom was out of town on her second official book tour, hugs and kisses at his dad’s front door which still felt sort of rushed because Eren felt like his dad was watching them even though he was off fiddling around in the kitchen or his bedroom pretending not to be feeling like an outsider while the goodbyes happened. “Do you want pizza for dinner?” he asked. Pizza’s fine. “Do you want to watch a movie?” I don’t care, Dad. “I have the night shift the next few days, will you be okay?” Boy howdy yes, totally defeats the purpose of staying with you, Dad, considering it’d be the same if he’d just stayed home alone at night with Armin’s grandpa checking in, but that’s fine.  

This was his mom’s second big trip as an official  _author_  and it was still weird sometimes, having a mother who was a real life  _author_. Eren hadn’t even known romance novels existed with such authenticity and genuineness outside of harlequins — sorry, they weren’t romance novels, but  _literary romance_. He hadn’t really wondered what it was all about until his mom stopped writing for Harlequin. He’d asked her, what it meant and what made lit romance different from romance novel.

“Well,” she’d said. “It’s a little complicated, because it’s not to say Harlequins are inferior, but they tend to be more template than story or character-driven romance.”

“So like, ‘Deep Throat’ versus ‘The Notebook.’” 

“Jesus, Eren — ” His mom had given him such a look of shock, laughing like she really was confused as to whether or not she should be amused not only that he knew  _Deep Throat_ to reference but that he used it as a reference. “No,” she’d said, shaking her head. “Think more like ‘The Greek Tycoon’s Mistress’ versus ‘Jane Eyre.’”

 _That_ made a lot of sense, and once he understood it, Eren found himself accidentally picking out story tropes and romance patterns in rom-dramas and rom-coms, Young Adult books he and Armin traded off once one of them was through reading the other. It was kind of fun sometimes, picking out the archetypes and clichés, how some books and some movies were just  _so bad_ at it, somehow —

His dad called the house phone from the hospital, before the night got too busy and he couldn’t call to see if Eren was staying up too late on a school night.

“You okay, bud?”

“Yeah,” Eren said, cocooned on the couch in the dark in his blanket, television remote and his copy of  _Jane Eyre_  bookmarked about halfway through, balanced on the throw pillow beside him.

“What are you up to?”

“Watching TV.”

“Did you eat dinner?”

“Yeah.”

“All right, well … ” Hospital chatter in the back. Beep of machines. Muffled movement, distant voices. Squeaking wheels. “Just checking on you. Go to bed soon.”

“Sure. Night, Dad.”

“Good night, bud!”

Eren hung up and tossed the phone idly to the couch beside him — commercial break was over and  _Erin Brockovich_ was back on, and he’d almost missed the sex scene with the pageant girl speech.  _That_ was romantic, he thought. Raw and real.

Romance in the world of high school juniors was watered down. Eren knew that. He understood it a little better than his peers, he liked to think, having a romance novelist for a mother and all. But — weak and watered down, cute all the same, but nothing like what would come after. Nothing like  _The Notebook_ kissing in the rain shit. Jack and Rose steaming up the car below deck. The  _Definitely, Maybe_  search for every copy of  _Jane Eyre_  and the poem in  _10 Things I Hate About You_  and finally kissing on the mouth in  _Pretty Woman_ , at the piano — everything those things stood for.

The kind of shit that made the chest clench, the heart bottom out in the best way. The real deal. One day he’d meet someone and at some point the guy would say,  _Can I take you out to dinner?_ Eren would say,  _If I can pick you up, I’m no damsel in distress_  and his boyfriend would totally dig his humor, and wouldn’t even know his mom was The Carla Jäger, so he wouldn’t care at all. Their dates would be local bar concerts and lowballs of whiskey, hella fancy restaurants where they’d drink fat glasses of wine, and they’d start with those accidental kisses, because first kisses were always accidental and totally romantic like that, and Levi would bring him little gifts every date and refuse to let Eren pick up the tab, but sometimes date nights would be making dinner together at home and winding arms around the waist from behind, nuzzling into the back of a neck, dusting little kisses, cutesy notes left in the morning when Eren stayed the night and woke up in Levi’s shirt, and after they went to this or that outing, or a work party, a movie, something, whatever, Levi would be all soft, dark, and handsome like he always was, annoyingly mysterious because it was so mesmerizing, and he’d stand in the doorway with glittering tipsy eyes and say low and silky,  _You’re amazing, you know that?_ And they’d have sex. There would be that One Song that they both heard and exchanged little glances, slow danced to that song, had sex to that song, or maybe they’d have a separate Sex Song, and they’d cuddle on the couch watching movies, which would afterwards become kissing, and become Eren’s fingers tracing the curve of Levi’s throat, and Levi’s knuckles sliding up under Eren’s shirt, body heat and press into the couch, and they’d have slow, dreamy, romantic sex. After bad fights they’d make up with one of those passionate kisses like the real-world version of the run-and-jump-and-swing embrace, kissing, smooth and delicate tangle like they were welded together, and Eren would say,  _Do you know how much you get to me?_ and Levi would smirk, probably, that soft and kind smirk that was still a smirk, cat-eyed glance, say,  _You tell me when you smile_ , and then Levi —

In the dark of his dad’s apartment, Eren’s foot slipped off the edge of the coffee table and bumped against the corner of his empty dinner plate as a strangled little sound of surprise escaped the back of his throat.

_Levi?_

Wide-eyed, Eren gawked at the TV but didn’t really see the commercials anymore. Fuck, what the fuck? Levi — when the fuck had he started thinking … ?

No. In his thoughts just now, Levi was merely a placeholder. On accident, of course. He was an  _older guy_ , he was cool and attractive, he filled that facelessness in the world of mature romance.

But Eren was sixteen and powerless to how hypersensitive he was to the guy, fixated by everything about him in the most incoherent, frustrating way because he didn’t know  _why_. He just got so disastrously flustered, unfairly nervous and desperate to impress, and he felt like such a loser right now, sitting in the dark blushing and self-conscious like Levi might find out somehow. Like someone were around to know that he was fantasizing — about his mom’s friend Levi. It was just a pointless crush but his heart was light as air and his pulse pumped a rush from scalp to curling toes. Just the sweetest, most addicting buzz, a hard, relentless and appropriately fruitless crush reserved to be admired from afar, and it was never going to happen, they weren’t ever going to  _get together_ , he was a  _placeholder_ , he was  _symbolic_ , Eren hated Levi for how easily he was hijacked by this  _pointless fucking crush_  —

The phone rang again. Eren jumped, choked on a breath. Heart pounding, he snatched it up and answered: “Dad, I’m fucking fine, I’m going to bed soon, I promise.”

“Oh,” his mom replied, “hello to you, too, baby.”

“Oh — ” Eren echoed, sinking lower into his blanket with a grimace, face on fire. “I’m sorry, Mom. I thought … ”

“It’s okay,” she said, and the cheer was evident in her voice. “I’m with Avalyn at the pier in San Francisco and I’m looking at a mug, a T-shirt, and a shot glass. Which do you want?”

Eren breathed a long sigh through his teeth, and thank God the electrical storm inside him passed with it because he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he’d gone on without interruption sitting in the dark thinking about dating Levi and Levi’s hands up his shirt. Hate himself, probably. Die of embarrassment and no one would even know.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, clearing his throat, “would you be mad if I asked for a shot glass?”

“No way!” his mom chirped. “It’s really cool, wait until you see it … ”

* * *

 

_Present._

The look on Eren’s face was like a kid about to be lectured, and it really did not make Levi feel any less old as he closed the front door behind them, leaving Erwin and Hanji talking together on the couch pretending like they weren’t left talking together on the couch while Levi took his grumpy lover out for a walk to figure out what the hell was going on with him. Just the two of them in the cool apartment corridor, pulling on his gloves, he grumbled, “I really don’t like feeling like a babysitter.”

Eren cast him a scathing glance.

Levi sighed, nodding as if to say,  _You’re right, I deserve that_. “I thought you were out with your friends.”

Bundled back up in his coat, Eren veritably pouted at him from his nest of a scarf. “No, I was at Tea Rep with Jean.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “You get what I’m saying.”

“Sure. Then, yes. But I’m home now.”

Levi’s mouth tightened to compensate for managing not to roll his eyes a second time.

The apartment building was still and quiet as they waited for the elevator, Levi with his hands shoved in his coat pockets, Eren rocking back and forth idly from heel to toe under the soft lights.  

“Sorry I interrupted your friends dinner,” he said once the elevator doors closed them in.

“Yeah, well, that’s our thing, remember?” Levi muttered back. “I have that, you have your friends, we balance it out. It’s funny, you know, they were just telling me how good you are for me, and then I had to ditch them to defuse — whatever the fuck mood you’re in right now.”

“I didn’t ask you to ditch them,” Eren snapped.  

“I know,” Levi said thinly, jaw tight. He didn’t have to look at Eren to know Eren looked back at him, brow knotted. He didn’t have to look, but he kind of wanted to see Eren falter under his cool composure. He slid his eyes over to him, as if to say,  _You feel bad?_  But he really didn’t want him to feel bad.

“I know you didn’t,” he just said again on a defeated sigh.   

It was chilly outside, sharp and damp. The tires of evening traffic hissed along 5th Ave and sighs floated in thin little clouds as lights glowed off slick pavement.

“I didn’t think it was that obvious,” Eren said, in that preciously pathetic way of his, hazel eyes burning but dark below a furrowed brow, mouth set in a firm line and chin ducked low into his scarf. Reminded Levi of years ago. Of Hemingway in a hotel room. Of fierce and fiery-eyed teenager in his living room. Owl-eyed victim of divorce in the kitchen doorway. Either his heat was timeless — Levi did think it was — or something had sent him spiraling back to childhood drama.  

“What was obvious, that you’re in a bad mood?” Levi issued a short little scoff of a chuckle, casting him a sidelong glance. Eren returned the look with a sharper pout. “What happened?” Levi murmured.

“Jean told me I’m too in love with love.”

Levi raised his brows, a little caught off guard that Eren was so up front about it. No diversion, no balking. But something settled quickly like lead in his chest; he cleared his throat, not sure how to reply to that. Not sure he was equipped, or even allowed.

“I thought you guys were past all that bitter ex bullshit,” he said below his breath.

“We are,” Eren said curtly, gaze sparking off anything and everything around them, like he needed to anchor himself somehow. Part of Levi still wanted to ask,  _Do we really have to do this now, when I have company over?_ But, upon another part of him, it was dawning that this was more than one of Eren’s typical moody funks —

He could see a real fear in those haunting hazel eyes, and it angered him in a slow, scorching way because he did not know where it came from or how to exorcise it.

If he would even be able to. If Eren would even let him.

Levi cleared his throat. “What does he mean?” he pressed, flat and even, careful to seem indifferent lest he tip the moment one way or the other.

“I don’t know, but like — ” Eren issued a short, frustrated sigh, reaching up to pull his scarf away from his mouth a bit like it were choking him. “Him and Marco … ”

“His boyfriend now. Right?”

Eren cut him a glance like he should have known this already. Levi raised his brows, shrugged and shook his head at the same time.

“Yeah,” Eren said. “Him and Marco, everything is perfect, it’s all going how it should. When it was  _me_ and him, I tried to make everything happen how it should, but he just wouldn’t get it. And talking tonight, he was acting like I don’t know what romance is.”

“Do you?”

Eren stopped short and fixed Levi with a dramatic look of betrayal. “Pretty sure,” he said, slowly, and deliberately, as if to emphasize how insulting he found the question. But there it was again, that little spark of panic in his eyes. “I’ve been writing it forever,” he scoffed, walking again. “And I miss it, sometimes. Like when I see him and Marco, all over each other, it’s just hard.”

 _I miss it_.  

Ouch. Levi sighed through teeth clenched against chattering as he pulled his hands from his pockets to run through his hair a few times. “Look,” he muttered, then raised his voice over the sound of cars taking off from a green light. Buildings and concrete broke apart for a view of the city sloping hard down towards the water there, the viaduct drab and yellowed by lights.  _It’s hard_ … “I get that. Just because I’m not looking for the same things you are doesn’t mean it’s not hard for me, too. News flash, relationships are hard, Eren. Romantic, non-romantic, whatever. I bet they’re not as perfect as you think, your ex and his boyfriend.”

“Don’t get pissed at me,” Eren mumbled, flashing him a defiant glance. He was losing breath, moving briskly and talking to keep up with his feet on the slick sidewalk like he wanted to leave the words behind him as fast as he could as they moved down 5th Ave, crossed Olive Way. “If I can’t be mad at you for not wanting romance, you can’t be mad at me for missing it sometimes.”

That struck a nerve with a hollow little twang — or maybe it was just that the electricity that had Eren all charged and alight had jumped to Levi from being too close. Whatever it was, it was Levi’s turn to stop short with a scrape of his heel on the sidewalk. A few other evening pedestrians swerved to avoid them, following the edge of the curb. And damn it, this was not what Levi had wanted of tonight. He’d wanted Cranky Old Person dinner, some good Malbec, cozied up in his apartment. Not standing here freezing in the dark of downtown, nose cold, cheeks flushed, working Eren through residual breakup blues after how many months now?

But no, he had a thickening feeling of dread that calling this breakup blues was dangerously trivializing. Maybe not _dread_ so much as just _knowing_. Breakup blues … That wasn’t it at all. And wasn’t that always how it went with Eren? Chasing him through the wood of his own thought before he sent himself up in a wildfire.

 _You can’t be mad at me for_ …

“I’m not mad at you,” Levi hissed, the not-dread cutting his nerves to defensive edges, “and I don’t give a fuck if you’re mad at  _me_  about all that. I … you know what? I think he’s right.”

Eren’s eyes veered to him, dark and moody. “What?” he grunted.

Levi shrugged, back turned to the street, the rush of wind from passing cars pushing his coat along his back. “You, of all people, don’t know what romance is.”

Eren flinched back, face twisting, mouth popping open as if to argue. He had nothing. Nothing but a shiver of a breath. He looked hollowed out for a moment, and there was that fear in his hazel eyes, flaring up like a torch in the night. Looked betrayed again, as if Levi were the last person he’d ever expect to tell him that. And rightfully so. Except maybe Levi was _exactly_ the right person to tell him that.

Levi shrugged again, ripping his gaze off elsewhere because it was making him nervous how calm he actually felt in the face of this. It was a tight rope of tension between them onto which he’d just stepped, where they were both suddenly precariously balanced. He was afraid it might snap. So he started walking again.

He cleared his throat and said over his shoulder, “You’ve been more romantic than you think, you know?”

“Oh, I have not,” Eren sputtered, hurrying to follow.

“Yes, you have.”

“Well, you haven’t  _alerted_ me to it, apparently, so how am I supposed to know?”

“Yeah,” Levi paused to skirt around a cluster of people blocking the way in the center of the sidewalk, as if they might give a fuck about an overheard argument, “I let it slide most of the time because I know you don’t realize it.”

Eren made a few familiar sounds of rebuttal that weren’t quite words, or syllables, or even sullen scoffs, then promptly shut up. Levi glanced at him over his shoulder again as they just walked, with purpose but with no direction; his heart face was dark, his jaw tight and eyes blazing as they focused on the crosswalk across which they danced before the red hand turned to green man.  

“I haven’t been, though!” he argued, finally, as they turned onto Pike, and it was indignant but there was a bit of a fracture to his voice, a crack in the glass house. “If anyone has been, it’s  _you_. Cooking us dinner, and giving me my own key, and making that office for me, and doing my laundry, and leaving me little notes, and dinner with my dad and — Levi, you wouldn’t even let me say  _boyfriend jacket_.”

Another twang to the nerves. Levi flashed him a salty look as he corrected him, “You see those things romantically, because  _you aren’t aromantic_.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

The lights along the street left their glow in puddles that lined the curb; the air had a new bite to it down by the water, the wind threading through the buildings. Pike Place had closed for the day, but the sign still stretched tall and red into the overcast evening sky, down at the bottom of the hill where cars zoomed by with a roar on the cobblestones like cars zoomed by down Pike, almost ripping Levi’s voice away from him as he stopped and spun on Eren again, feeling rather bristled and brittle.

“Listen,” he edged out. “What I mean about you being a lot more romantic than you realize is that — you’re not  _thinking_ about it. You’re not obsessing over your stupid fucking formula with us. And because of that, you’re actually feeling it. You’re not trying to force it. So, without those things, you actually _don’t_ know what romance is, do you?”

“Levi — ”

“ _Do you?_ ”

A defensive scowl darkened Eren’s face, frantic and patented furious. “That’s unfair, Levi — ”

“Fuck, Eren!” Levi choked out, tight rope buzzing beneath his feet now. In the warmly-lit dark of Pike Place, he waved his arms but with his hands back in his pockets, it was just a vehement shrug of the shoulders. A laugh of disbelief stuttered from the back of his throat and he shook his head, voice bouncing around their stretch of sidewalk as he cried, “Stop trying to write your own story and just  _be_ your main character for once!”

 _It’s a formula. Every movie, every book, every relationship_.

Seabirds swooped through dark alleys behind them as Eren stood there just outside the spill of a street lamp, looking young and fragile and guilty. Looking like a held breath, trapped within the urge to cry. That was horrifying. That horrified Levi. To have that power, to mean that much to someone — it felt like it came with such a responsibility, and Levi was terrified of failing it. Just like with Erwin. Just like …

 _He’s the romance queen’s kid_.

Eren recovered quickly, but not fully, eyes wide and wild. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have ever told me,” he said then, like he wanted to protect the part of him Levi had just so deftly and deeply moved. “You could have just followed the formula and said you loved me, even if it was a fucking lie.”

 _Better not let him think you’re romantically interested_ …

It took Levi a moment to catch his breath from that one, just looking at Eren cold and carved raw. A spiteful little smile twitched at his mouth; a weak laugh of disbelief waited. _Wow_ , he wanted to say. And yet he felt he was not totally undeserving, even as Eren’s fire dulled down a little and he watched Levi in a tight, guarded way, like he was waiting for the comeback, like he knew what he’d said was harsher than it should have been but he was not about to apologize. Not even about to admit it. The stubborn little shit.  

The tight rope under Levi’s feet snapped.

“Okay,” he finally said, voice clipped and bitter but not cruel. “I’m tired of this.”

“What?” Eren squinted at him, nervous like cracked glass about to shatter.

 _He’s good for you_.

“This.” Levi shrugged again, shook his head with a little incline of the chin. “If we’re going to do this, I can’t keep pretending.”

 _It’s different this time_.

“Pretending what?”

 _Don’t fall in love_.

“That I don’t know.”

Eren looked at him like he wasn’t going to breathe until Levi said it, which was kind of cute and very him and nothing he could change.

“Is Jean right?” Levi pressed.

Eren’s face pinched; he cast a sulky look. “No.”

“So you’re not too in love with love to fall in love yourself.”

“No.”

“Okay.” Levi cleared his throat, lest it try to tighten on him. “So just tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

Levi shook his hair of his eyes with a little toss of the chin. The wind only blew it right back. He held his hands out only to drop them again, helpless but not without hope. And it was starting to rain. Damn.

He knew the answer, but he was still on edge. Nerves alight. Heart thudding. A dull, thick anticipation cinching his chest. Maybe just to speak the words. Maybe to … have been wrong, all along.

“Are you in love with me?” he husked. “Or not?”

A car passed, lights rolling pale over Eren as he narrowed his eyes and rain sparkled off the crown of his head, the shoulders of his coat. There it was, the Jäger passion — that unforgiving verve, unexpected and inexplicable, his very presence a bonfire — but just a flicker of it. And then it broke open in a flurry of embers. Shocked, defenseless, guiltless embers. Yet … _unafraid_.

He knew Levi already knew the answer. And so did he. 

They stood there a moment, just staring at each other. A peaceful standoff. Maybe Eren’s heart was thundering as hard as Levi’s. He didn’t know. He didn’t know how it felt on the other side of this.

“Yeah,” Eren said after a moment, with a fraying voice and a helpless shrug. He shook his head and looked at Levi from his side of the sidewalk. It was kind of beautiful, how someone could look so happy and so sad at the same time. Like how a dead mother could look tired but finally rested in a silk-lined open casket.

Eren fixed him with those blazing hazel eyes. Fearlessly. Without tact and miserably without apology. That fire of his that scorched Levi but through which Levi could not stop running his fingers.

“I love you,” he whispered, resolutely. As if daring Levi to try to stop him. As if to promise he was going to no matter what. As if to promise himself it was real.

Levi did not stop him. He felt the world fall out from under him but it was not because what he’d warned against had happened. It was because it was okay. Eren loved him.  

And it felt like breathing was easy.

Levi remembered Carla, suddenly. Carla saying  _Eren doesn’t have to be special_. Except that he was. He was God damn special. Eren, watching him. Wrapped in a sheet at the foot of his bed. New Year’s on Erwin’s patio. That night after the whole manuscript debacle. Eren falling asleep on him by the water in Kirkland. Eren waiting on the edge of his bed, saying  _Hey, will you kiss me?_  Eren, loving him. _Going to no matter what_. And Levi hadn’t been able to do anything about any of it because he just wanted to protect him from all of it.

 _I love you_ …

The skyscrapers around them loomed into the moonless night, indifferent and unsympathetic to the paradigm shift in their shadows.

Levi nodded slowly, half a smile twisting at his mouth in turn. 

“I know,” he hummed, warmly. “I’ve known.”

Eren softened suddenly, as if embarrassed by that; the light in his eyes changed. But then a shy, sweet smile dimpled his face and before the first relieved tears could break loose from his dark lashes, he just tipped his head back into the spitting rain, and surrendered to happy laughter.   


	20. Moments and Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren's father announces plans to propose. Levi promises Erwin he finally understands himself. Nights in Paris and an e-mail from a literary agent. Walk here, Drink here, Fuck here, Write here, non-romantic not-boyfriends. Because romance is just a fancy way of saying, "I'm afraid to let you in," and why wouldn't you fall in love with someone? // LAST CHAPTER, WE MADE IT TO PARIS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i made a **spotify** playlist (you can get it [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/12169251584/playlist/4DgdYlMFBnxiYHsFQXZoai)), but to pair with this chapter use headphones and start at **haux** | _cologne_ without shuffle. GUYS HAPPY NEW YEAR'S, we made it to paris, i could cry. i’m so sad it took me this long to get this done, and i’m even sadder to be done with it. thank you guys, a million times over. hopefully i’ve got something new coming soon. xoxo time to go celebrate with some red wine in honor of moments and colors

* * *

 

Grisha Jäger slid a tiny velvet ring box onto the coffee table, waiting a moment before raising his eyes to meet his son’s.

Levi’s gaze followed suit, drifting slowly over to Eren.

In his father’s apartment, Eren was flopped on the big armchair next to the sofa as if he’d deflated into it. A subdued sullenness had dimpled his face the moment they’d arrived. Dark, careful dart of his glances and a pensive pout flirting with his mouth — took him back to sixteen, seventeen, so fast and so simple. They’d been in the apartment a good hour now, coffee with a side of just slightly uncomfortable conversation and catching up skirting not nearly wide enough around the questions regarding Eren’s living situation and sex life. And Eren, always reverting to teenage angst around his father, always, Levi had noticed. But today there was a lack of volatility to it, just gloom and doom and dully annoyed glances. 

For a moment, it seemed he didn’t understand, eyes fixed wide and unwavering on the ring box before veering up to meet his father’s, a silent question mark.

Grisha cleared his throat and leaned forward with fingers laced loosely between bent knees. Hesitant, with an almost-furrow to his brow.

“I’m going to propose to Dina,” he announced.

Eren raised his brows. “Who?”

Grisha’s smile tightened, mildly insulted, maybe a little heartbroken. He knew Eren knew who it was. Levi winced for him, bit back a startled scoff for Eren’s charming lack of tact. Beautiful disaster, this kid. Childish, but when Levi was a spectator and not a participant in the disaster, it was admittedly entertaining.

“My girlfriend, Eren,” Grisha said.

Eren’s face pinched. Levi sat quietly over at the edge of the kitchen where linoleum met carpet, perched on a leather bar stool that really served no purpose except perhaps grown man living alone aesthetic. Erwin had something like that, too. At least Grisha’s didn’t squeak as Levi swiveled it side to side weakly, leaning against the wall there and thumbing through his phone. Not really paying attention, just masking the way he very subtly looked between father and son, having faded out of the conversation by now. Mildly distracted by the pieces of Eren around the place — pictures, on the mantle, in the TV cabinet — grade school Eren, middle school Eren, high school Eren, Eren and Carla and Grisha on holidays, Carla and Grisha’s wedding not far from a photo of Grisha and Dina, the blonde woman he’d been with at the store. They hadn’t noticed his absence in the conversation, just kept going as if he wasn’t even there. He, no longer a stranger, maybe still vaguely an intruder to Grisha, the old editor, the old friend, the — _lover_ , or whatever. The one who took his son.

“I thought you were dating Frieda,” Eren mumbled.

Grisha’s face crumbled; now he reflected the skeptical pout on his son’s face, and Eren looked so much more like Carla but here it was certainly not hard to see the resemblance to his father. “I was never dating Frieda!” Grisha said, aghast.

“Oh.” Eren shrugged, flustered. Tried to laugh a little, sheepishly, to patch up the conversational blunder and lighten the bruise of guilt and shock on his father’s face. He wasn’t _malicious_ , after all, just moody. “Well. Could’ve fooled me.”

Levi had no idea who Frieda was. What he did know was that Eren looked winded and at a loss, and slightly wounded though he struggled valorously to keep from being too obvious about it. His long pause was torture; Grisha watched him, and Levi watched him, and they both knew him, they both waited on tenterhooks for the impending snap. Grisha, remarrying. Carla gone less than a year. Eren didn’t even really know the new woman. Wasn’t anybody’s fault, that was a two-way street. His father, getting married, and telling him like he was begging for approval, for permission. _They didn’t even do it right_ , Eren had insisted that night in Carla’s kitchen, sixteen years old and already determined to align some order to the world when everything was suddenly out of his control —

“I’m really happy for you, Dad,” Eren said, in a flat, quiet way with a resigned and unexpected maturity as if he didn’t feel he had a right to object — or like he really didn’t object at all.

Grisha tried to exchange a glance with Levi, startled. Levi cleared his throat, glance sparking off Grisha’s just enough to acknowledge and briefly, _briefly_ share puzzled relief for the unexpected ease with which Eren took the news.  

Grisha nodded, smiling in that creased way of his, brow knotted. “Thank you,” he said after a moment, a little uncomfortably, like he wasn’t sure he should be thanking Eren, but wanted to. There was another awkward pause, father and son both realizing they were at stages in life where they could understand each other when it came to things like adult relationships and sex and marriage, and by the thick tension in the room, it was a jarring moment, the death of childhood and parenthood, of fatherhood and sonhood. Both just real _people_ , living real lives. And neither were as bad as they wanted them to be.

“So are you ready to go?” Grisha asked, first to break and turn the conversation elsewhere. “Passports, everything’s good?”

Eren nodded quickly, relieved to change the topic. Even if it was to Paris. “Yeah,” he said.

“Are you on break now?”

“Yeah. I mean, I have a few things left to grade and I have to get it all in Canvas by the end of the week, but … ”

“Come here … ”

Levi watched without lifting his head as Eren followed Grisha down to the bedroom at the end of the short hall. Muffled voices, private but not secretive, just bits and pieces of gentle murmurs. 

“ … went to the graveyard earlier.”

“Here, I want you to have this … ”

“ … not selling the house, if you wanted to … ”

“Oh, Eren, no. I couldn’t. We … what if you want to go back … ?”

 _What if things don’t work out with your mom’s friend?_ is what that meant. Levi cast a glance down the hall, at the way pale sunlight fell in a slant through the open door, from the bedroom window. He could see neither of them, but he could still feel the ringing pause. No murmuring. Eren, unsure of how to answer. Maybe for Levi’s sake. Maybe for his father’s sake. Probably both and definitely for his sake, unwilling to think about something like that at the moment. Levi didn’t blame him. He didn’t want to, either. And he tried very hard not to remember the way Grisha had looked at him Christmas, so distrusting — at the store on Valentine’s Day, resigned and defeated.

“Eren, we’ll talk about it … cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Eren slipped out of the bedroom and stopped for just a breath or two when he caught Levi’s glance. Lingered for a moment, hazel eyes burning like weak embers, as if to apologize for something. As if to confirm he knew Levi had been listening. Vulnerable yet challenging him to question his lack of response. _You want to go back_ … ?

But it was just a glance, a quick, sun flare glance, and then he kept moving before his dad could catch up, gathering his coat and car keys. As Levi slid off the stool and went to the armchair to get his own coat, Grisha followed Eren to the door. They hugged, loosely, but genuinely. Levi took his time pulling on his coat, drifting over as unnoticeable as he could. To no avail.

Grisha’s arms fell away from Eren, except for one hand which hovered at his shoulder almost protectively. Levi could feel in his eyes as he looked to him the lingering judgment. He was still being tested, after all. Graded. On probation in his new role in their tiny, fragile world.

“Do you guys have a ride to the airport next week?” Grisha asked. “You don’t need one?” 

“Uh, yes,” Levi said. “We have one. Thank you, though.”

He asked Levi as if he were the only other adult in the room; Eren felt the snub, waiting patiently for his father to catch his displeased frown. But it faded away before Grisha turned back to him.

“Be safe in Paris,” he said.

“I will,” Eren nodded, wiggling into his coat.

“Did you say thank you to your mom’s friend?”

“Yeah, I sent him a card.”

“All right, well … call me before you fly out. And call me when you land.”

“Dad,” Eren sighed through his teeth, tugging open the apartment door with a little roll of the eyes, “we leave next week. I’ll probably text you tonight or tomorrow anyway.” 

* * *

“Fucking mother _fucker_ ,” Eren hissed, leaving himself barely enough time to be in behind the wheel of his car before he slammed the driver’s side door shut. “Why did I offer him the house?”

“Because,” Levi said, drumming his palm idly on his knee. As Eren started the car, Levi glanced over at him, brows raised. “He’s your dad. That’s why you offered. He’s your family.”

Eren slouched down into one arm, propped against the window as the car idled, engine warming up. Scowling weakly at the way the day’s wind danced through the trees around the apartment parking lot, he was quiet a moment. Thinking. Thinking deep, in that brooding way of his, owl eyes roaming thoughts unseen to anyone else. _He’s your family_ , Levi said, and he could tell by the pinch to Eren’s brow that he understood exactly what Levi meant, and it was far from guilt tripping.

It was just that Eren had already lost his mother, and to continue to push his dad away would leave him fatherless, too. He’d regret it.

With a huff of a sigh, Eren stirred from his own mind. Flutter of lashes like blinking back tears. Fuck — Levi watched from the corner of his eye, worried he’d struck a nerve still too sensitive for offhanded soul-searching comments like that, cue the emotional parkour.

“Whatever,” Eren grumbled, thankfully tearless, stubborn perhaps only out of principle. He rolled down the two front windows for a little bit of the day’s cool breeze. “I’ll probably take back the offer. I’m not having him live with his _new wife_ in _my mom’s house_. I mean, it was _their house_. That’s just fucked up, right? Replacing her in her own house. _Marriage_.”

He wasn’t going to withdraw the offer. Levi knew him. As obstinate and as feisty as he was, he was desperate for his father to be his father again. _Offered him the house_ … What did that even mean? That he thought he’d be staying with Levi longer than … well, who fucking knew at this point? They were at six months and counting, anyway. Better not to think about it. Better to just brush up against the fact that the kid wasn’t exactly _staying_ with him anymore, they were basically living together — was that splitting hairs — ?

“I’ve been binge watching ‘Friends,’” Eren said as he drove out of the bright little neighborhood, back towards the main street, lettering the steering wheel whisper along his palms and fingertips.

“I noticed,” Levi replied.

“You know that one episode when Monica’s parents find out she’s dating Richard Burke? The old family friend?”

He watched Eren from the corner of his eye, through the cool afternoon light. “Mm-hmm … ?”

“Yeah, well.” Eren shrugged. “It made me realize how my dad probably feels. Then again, there’s Dina. So I guess we’re even.”

“So you’re saying … that’s us.”

“No, not exactly.”

“No, you totally are.”

“ _No_ , it’s just _similar_ — from, you know, my dad’s perspective — ”

“Uh, I think the only similarity is I’m older than you and I’ll agree that you are an uptight mess.”

Eren heaved a frustrated sigh, but he was smiling again. There was the laugh, now — little open grin, tongue between the teeth, meek, mischievous glance. Levi would take it. He shook his head, giving an exasperated sigh of his own, leaning into his hand as he watched Eren drive. Dark hair, dancing in and out of his face. The light kissing the heart shape of it — sunlight, for the first time in weeks, and his hazel eyes catching the shine of it.

“What’d he give you?” Levi murmured.

Flicker of a glance, startled and shy, that flitted away again swiftly when it found Levi already looking. “Ah … ” Eren shrugged. “Just like, a memento sort of thing. That meant a lot to my mom, that he gave her back when they were still in love.”

 _Still in love_. Not _thought they were in love_. Not _before they did it wrong_.

Driving with one hand, Eren dug the gift out of his pocket, held it out for Levi to see without looking at him himself.

It was a little palm-sized glass case, about the shape of a magnet, and pressed inside it was a dried flower petal, beautiful sky blue curling at the edges like paper burning.

“It’s stupid,” Eren said on a sigh that said it was not stupid at all. “That he’d want me to have it.”

“I don’t think so,” Levi murmured, and he knew Eren well enough not to let him dwell on the subject. “You don’t think I’m a dinosaur, right?” he said, leaning into his palm. “Like Richard Burke. Because I always thought that was one of Monica’s creepier relationships.”

“No, no, no — ” Eren almost choked on a breath, shoving the little preserved flower back into his pocket, swerving ever so slightly as he drove with his free hand. “God, no, Levi. I’m sorry. Terrible example.” He laughed, embarrassed, and the ring of it was as warm as the sunlight as Levi watched him, smiling faintly behind his hand.

* * *

Somewhere just past ten years ago, Erwin had looked at him across the shitty college apartment and said, “I had a moment, Levi. I just — realized how in love with you I am.”

And Levi had sat there in the cramped living room with a cup of coffee in both hands, eyes wide. He’d blushed first because he hadn’t expected it and second because he was deeply surprised, stunned into silence by the unexpected and unnecessary attention. Erwin, softened by the warm yellow of the kitchen overhead light, low fuzz of the television, tousled blond hair, white T-shirt sleeves wrinkled on broad shoulders and humble little smile and a light burning in his blue eyes that just begged Levi not to judge him. And circuit breakers all through Levi snapped as he’d gawked back at him, mouth chalky, stomach pinching, scraping out —

“What?” he’d demanded. “Why?”

Erwin’s brow knotted. “Why do I love you … ?”

“Yeah.”

“Because I … do.”

“Well, you don’t have to.”

It had left a bruise; Levi saw it immediately. Erwin’s smile sagged a little. He looked at Levi so tenderly, and he hadn’t even been angry or defensive — not a shadow of rejection on his face. Just a nonpartisan sadness, a heavy look of aching for Levi’s untouchable aching. And Levi’s heart had thudded hollow; his breath felt stuck in his chest and he didn’t know why. He’d sprung up from the couch and went to the window, opened it, sat there with one leg drawn up, lit a cigarette, stared out at the brick and concrete across the alley as Erwin had climbed to his feet and wandered over. Reached out, turned Levi’s face to his with two fingers to the chin. Said, “I know I don’t have to.”

Said, “But I want to.”

And Levi hadn’t been able to figure out then whether he was afraid of being loved or afraid of not loving back or any other poetic college age self-discovery bullshit or what it was he felt at all but _frantic_ , and he let Erwin kiss him. Dropped his cigarette half-smoked from limp fingers as Erwin pulled him up off the windowsill and wound him in against his chest. Just let him kiss him, head tipped back, lips parted. _In love with you_ … It made Erwin happy. Levi had seen it in his bright blue eyes. And it killed him to imagine Erwin unhappy because of him. Broke him inside, ripped open a festering wound. Let him kiss him, kissed back. Let Erwin believe he was just afraid of it, just surprised and flustered, not uncomfortable with it. Not broken. Felt Erwin’s heartbeat, his heat, everything had seemed a little distant and empty but that had not been Erwin’s burden —

“Eren told me he loved me.”

Erwin looked up from Levi’s bed, where he’d flopped down on one side, propped on one elbow and busying himself on his phone as Levi packed for Paris. Suitcase, open on the floor by the closet. Pairs of shoes, folded pants under folded shirts, mix-and-match outfits and extra socks, and Erwin so long his feet poked off the side of the bed, crossed at the ankles.

Levi glanced at him from the corner of his eye, discreetly, without lifting his head as he crouched down trying to decide between Chinos and faded denim.  

“He did,” Erwin said, slowly, no upturn of the words but enough of a slant that it still felt like a cautious question. Stepping lightly through landmines of Remember Whens and Back Thens, the field of which they’d sown together, and yet one which he seemed afraid he’d forgotten how to navigate.

Levi nodded. Finally he just dropped both pairs of pants and looked up at Erwin from his haunches on the floor, arms hooked loosely around his legs for balance.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

Erwin waited. Levi waited until he realized Erwin was waiting. He heaved a little sigh, rolling his eyes and leaning back to just sit on his ass there in the array of clothing — except he’d turned a little, forgot where the suitcase was — grunted as he sat down against the zippered edge and just issued another defeated sigh as he plopped down into the suitcase itself. Whatever. Erwin chuckled; Levi smiled a little in return, narrowing his eyes as if to say, _You would have, too_.

“And how did that go?” Erwin asked.

“Well.” Levi shrugged limply. “Fine.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Erwin echoed, a loving scoff.

“He just … ” Levi sighed again, longer this time, quietly, running a hand through his hair and just leaving his fingers hooked there as he leaned against his knees.

 _I love you_ …

“I knew before he even said it,” he muttered. “And I’m okay with it. It doesn’t … freak me out like it used to.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Levi caught the micro expression as it flickered across Erwin’s face. He did that thing he always did — raised his thick brows ever so slightly, slow blink, mouth pressed in a thin line, a very certain kind of poker face that always gave him away in the end anyway. A faint smile tugged at Levi’s mouth, wistful. Nostalgic. That night a few weeks ago, that night Eren had burst in on him and his friends, that night he’d … said it.

“I want to take care of him, Erwin.” Levi’s brow knotted, voice low, whisper-flat. “I want to let him love me.”

“So why does it work this time?” Erwin murmured.

 _It’s different this time_ …

“I hope you didn’t take it personally, big guy, when I said it’s different,” Levi husked, dry little perk of a smile. “It’s different because you’re you, and he’s him. But it’s also different because — because, I don’t know, I feel like I know how to do it now.”

Erwin’s brow knotted a bit deeper. The firm press of his mouth angled towards an almost smile. “Is that so?”

Levi nodded slowly, eyes darting away. For a moment he felt a pressure in his chest, a strange weight slowly throbbing there in the pit of it. It was slightly uncomfortable. More like frustrated guilt. Nervousness. Nervousness to say —

“Listen,” he husked. “The first time I kissed someone, I was a senior in high school. And it was awful.”

Erwin turned his phone over, to signal that Levi had already had his full attention, but that he understood this was something that required a sign of recognition.

Levi cleared his throat. “He didn’t do anything wrong. He was fine. We were super into each other. But then on our first date, we kissed and — everything just flat-lined.” It still made his heart feel thick in his chest to talk about it, to remember it, like it had happened yesterday. Just took him right back to sixteen and the taste of metal in his mouth and the way his skin had crawled. And Kenny — _Why are you skipping class again?_ Because, Kenny, I feel like I’m going to die. _Why are you being so God damn dramatic? Someone picking on you? Your mom’d be ashamed if you let someone pick on you, dumbass_.

“Flat-line?” Erwin murmured.

Levi gave a quick shrug. “Yeah, I went numb. It was just, we were kissing out on the street after ‘Rocky Horror’ and I realized I was just standing there limply as it happened, and it felt empty. I mean, I kept kissing back trying to make it mean something. It didn’t. It just … _didn’t_. And all of a sudden, I couldn’t remember what it was like to be into him. I couldn’t remember how much I’d liked flirting with him, the sexual tension. I thought I was going to throw up. I went home and I was just in a fucking panic. My heart was racing, I had chills, I was tense, I was nauseous. I was horrified to see him again and even just thinking about it sent me into a panic.”

Erwin shifted a little on the bed, switching his legs around, lacing his fingers idly at his middle where one arm draped across his side. Staring. Listening. Hearing. Levi shrugged again, running a hand through his hair and just holding it there in a loose fist, most of it falling back out to sweep along his brow again.

“I kept trying to figure out what happened,” he muttered. “What went wrong. And then it hit me that he very obviously wanted a romantic relationship, and I absolutely did not. So I broke it off like, three days later. I felt like such a fucking jerk, but I felt like I could breathe again. Like I could actually talk to him again. I just wanted the flirting. The sexual tension. Sex. Not _date_.” A short, raspy laugh slipped from the back of his throat, a roll of the eye at himself. “I thought back then I had a fear of commitment, or was just a selfish prick.”

 _My heart’s never been broken_ , Erwin had said, so long ago. And Levi still called bullshit on it. He lifted his eyes again to meet Erwin’s, arm propped up on his knee, slouched into it with fingers curled at his temple. And sitting curled up there on the floor, looking up at Erwin as Erwin looked back at him from the bed in a familiar silence, Levi felt ten years ago. He wilted, with a bittersweet smile.

“It was never like that with you,” he husked.

Erwin smiled like a frown at the edges. Like he wasn’t sure he believed him.

“I really wanted to try to love you,” Levi said. “You never made me feel sick. I met Carla, and she brought up ‘aromantic.’ And … now here we are. Luckily, I found someone just as selfish as me, and it works.” 

“Nah,” Erwin said, drumming a thumb on the back of his phone. Wagging his foot idly. “I’m selfish, too. And he’s good for you. Don’t lie.”

 _Good for you_. More like good _to_ him. More like a good fucking man. A good fucking man who didn’t let him get away with any of his shit, any of his childish shit.

“So were you,” Levi countered, flashing him a glance.

“I’m glad,” Erwin said, and it felt a lot like he was also saying _I’m proud of you_.

Levi uttered a tiny little scoff of a laugh. He didn’t need Erwin’s pride. He didn’t need his permission to be happy or pensive celebration that Levi finally understood himself, tenured Ex forgiveness for not being able to fix himself with him —

Except, really, he did need to know Erwin was glad, because it meant it was okay to figure himself out with someone else, it was okay that he’d always been so afraid of drowning wading through someone else’s waves in a storm but he was finally learning to swim and it was not with him.

The closure in Erwin’s faint smile was heavy on his chest. Or maybe it was just that he felt something like closure of his own. Levi cleared his throat, nodding idly. Raised his brows a little, offering a tiny smile in return.  

“Yeah,” he said. “He’s a fucking handful. But he’s really good, I think.”

* * *

City of lights.

They landed after nine p.m., all of Paris emerging from cloud cover sprawling glittering and golden below the airplane, and Eren held his sleeve over his palm to wipe away the smudge on the aircraft window he left from his nose and forehead, pressed up against it to gawk in groggy wonderment. Old world stone and brick, flashing lights, tree-lined streets and slate-blue roof tiles — a heartbeat to the nighttime noise and motion that was so mesmerizing to him. In the back of the cab, the lights rolled over Levi in slants and ribbons; his blue-grey eyes darted along, following things outside the window, jumping from scene to scene. He must have felt Eren watching him, glanced over with raised brows. Tiny perk of a smile.

The flat was in a quaint little building just off the Boulevard Poissonnière, sixth floor. Stiff and exhausted from the long trip, they elbowed in with coats and bags. Eren juggled his things with the key, cell phone smashed up against his face by his shoulder.

“Yeah — yeah, no, Dad, we just got to the flat. That’s why I’m calling you … I don’t know, I took French in _undergrad_ … Listen, I don’t have many international minutes, so I’ll call you tomorrow … ”

They’d been selective about the flat — subconsciously, or unspokenly — a charmingly modern and minimalist little apartment not over-decorated or designed for cliché Parisian romance. More a businessman’s steal, all the basics and amenities, an Italian-style shower and iPhone dock and two narrow little terraces, one along the bedroom and one along the salon, guarded by wrought-iron on the other side of tall French doors through which, presumably, in the day, bright, warm European sunlight would flood the rooms.

“It’s cute,” Levi murmured, wandering into the bedroom. “Damn,” his voice echoed from the bathroom, “the shower’s nice.”

Eren dropped his things at the little sofa and went straight for the French doors, stepped out onto the tiny terrace to drink in the cool, foreign air, the shapes and angles of old Paris buildings immediately across the street, rising and swelling and peaking as they unfurled around the neighborhood. Eiffel Tower, peeking up in the near distance. All of it, so romantic in the purest sense of the word. Simple and beautiful. Somewhere in the flat behind him, the shower went on.

Aromantic.

 _What does that mean?_ Mikasa had asked. And somehow, the fact that Levi was his mom’s friend didn’t bother them half as much as the other specifics. _Should you be dating right now?_ Why, because six months later she still didn’t think he was stable enough to be a normal human being again? _He’s not using you, is he?_ Mikasa, stop, he’d said, it’s not like that. Not like that at all. _You could have just told us. It’s not like we couldn’t tell_. Then why hadn’t they asked? _Because._ Because of his mom. Because they knew he was a house of cards and the wrong breath would make him fall apart. Because they loved him.

Levi was smart. He’d managed to stay awake most of the flight over, somehow; Eren drifted back inside slightly chilled by the March night, closing the door quietly to find Levi post-airport shower fresh and fallen asleep flopped on his stomach on the queen bed. Meanwhile Eren had passed out half the flight after being up all the night before, wired with excitement, with nerves, with leftover adrenaline after talking with Mikasa and Armin at Tea Republik and fighting nostalgia and a bittersweet sort of sadness.

_Plane ticket to Paris. Ask if you wanted to go with me._

_He’s so much older than you_ , Mikasa had said, and Armin, just watching carefully, big blue eyes volleying between the two of them as the resident peacemaker and word master despite being the one totally permitted to say something skeptical like, _Dude, I thought you hated that guy_ or _Your mother’s friend?_ Yeah, and Eren was turning twenty-five at the end of the month, pretty sure he could handle dating a man in his thirties. _If he’s why you haven’t been around us as much, I don’t think that’s healthy_. Yeah, well, Mikasa, he’d tried to explain as delicately as he could when he remembered a delicate explanation was probably a good idea, being with Levi was a hell of a lot better for him than her smothering. She’d still given him a hard look, rebuffing and apologetic at once. Armin had said, _You guys are serious?_ And Eren had waited for Mikasa to finally meet his eyes directly before he’d said, _Stop worrying_ and he knew she knew it meant, _I’m happy_.

Eren was exhausted from the trip but he just could not sleep yet. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to sleep all night. Maybe he could work instead.

Levi’s breaths were just deep enough not to become little kitten snores as Eren passed by, slowed to a stop … lingered at the foot of the bed watching him, the gentle rise and fall of his body, slope of his shoulders and limp curl of fingers against the pillow. His hair fell dark across one brow, tickled the shell of an ear, and God, it was insane, how perfect he looked asleep. Pretenses discarded, slipped through his fingers. Soft, and untroubled, and warm and sweet. Eren wanted to press his nose into the tender little nook between shoulder and neck, let his arms settle at the place made just for them, under his ribs. Feel his breath against his own breath, the form of his body under his shirt.

 _Don’t fall_ … _I love you_. _I know_.

Eren took his turn in the shower, just standing there letting the hot water tingle along his bare skin for a moment. It left him feeling feverish in a good way, back out on the balcony with damp hair and the sleeves of an oversized sweater swallowing his fingers as he sat on one of the little slatted chairs, feet propped up on the wrought-iron railing. Toes curling, flick of a lighter and ribbon dance of cigarette smoke, pack of Camels for expected nights of drinking but so relaxing after an international flight and hot shower. He squinted up at the velvet of the sky, frowning faintly; maybe it was overcast, and he’d be able to see the stars another night. Maybe he wouldn’t. It was a big, bright city, after all. Laughter echoed from the street below, bounced up around the stone and brick like the echo of water clapping. Was this fucking real? Paris. Him. And Levi. Fucking Paris. A weekend to do whatever the fuck he wanted, no obligations, no errands, no schedule, write and write and write and have sex probably and walk around the city. The last time he’d been here, he’d been a kid, he’d been fresh out of high school and he and his mom had …

Eren stared out at the city but didn’t really see anything, just let himself look around and feel it. Iron, cold beneath his socked feet; cigarette smoke tickling his knuckles; rise and fall of his own breath, free arm flopped across his middle and resting against propped-up legs.

This, this ghosting moment — alone in the quiet, Levi asleep in the other room. In _Paris_. Just breathing, just existing, just feeling. Timeless. It felt surreal. Unreal. Outside of usual time and space — _his_ usual time and space, anyway, so far from the U-Dub or Ravenna, from the Ave and I-5 and 5th Ave and the closet office and the spare bedroom, from the seven o’clock a.m. alarm on his phone, the roar of the light rail …  

She should have been there. His mom, looking out at this other world cityscape and the sky and the lights. Dark hair pulled back in a French braid coming loose in little wisps, laughter lines and smile lines, her feet up beside his, her fingers laced behind her neck, her eyes full of thoughts that would all one day be cradled in words …

She _was_ there, maybe. Somehow. He felt her. In the velvet sky, in the old buildings, in the cool quiet, smell of someone’s balcony flowers nearby, soft purr of Levi sleeping. Flower petal in glass in his suitcase. She was there. And even though the urge to cry tightened his chest, Eren was happy.

* * *

“Jesus Christ,” Levi grunted, coming out of the bedroom still towel drying his hair from his morning shower. The smell of body wash bloomed in the lingering steam, cool scent of shave and aftershave. “Did you even sleep at all?”

Eren squinted at him with sandy eyes from the little sofa, swaddled in the throw blanket. “Yes,” he replied, though his morning croak betrayed it was far less than Levi had.

“Why did you sleep on the couch?”

“I don’t know.”

Levi’s eyes lingered on him a moment, cool, unreadable even as he tried to read between Eren’s lines. It didn’t distract him too long. With an idle little shrug as if to say, _Your choice_ , he drifted off into the kitchen, towel draped on one shoulder. Slow clinking of dishes in the cabinet, a scrape of some kitchen appliance on the counter. Finally he poked back out around the corner, drumming his fingers on the door frame.

“Want to go out and find a good café?” he asked.

* * *

L’heure Gourmande, secreted away in Passage Dauphine. _Drink coffee here_. Rue des Barres. _Walk here_ in the watchful shadows of ancient buildings. “Take pictures!” Eren posed enough for the two of them — this one nice, that one excited and innocent, another goofy with hands in the air and feet spread far apart and the Arc de Triomphe stretching tall and glorious behind him, a laugh captured forever in the cool March air. Rustic Montmartre, with its lazily winding roads and spring wisteria — “Funny,” Levi grunted, _Wisteria_ by Eren Jäger, and Eren was blushing and flustered and pretended not to hear him — and Levi knew Eren snuck candids of him where he could. Levi leaning back to look up at the gargoyles of des Barres, Levi under the swoop of trees on the Champs-Élysées, Levi catching him once or twice with a cool gray side-glance, patiently unamused, outside the oldest boulangerie in the city.

Père Lachaise, _Walk here_. Like other occasional knots of tourists, they came out of the metro station at the entrance of the garden cemetery with Oscar Wilde’s tomb right around the corner. Tombs of famous Frenchmen, mini chapels, cramped family mausoleums, rain-stained stone and a modern-day mini-catacomb with a monument dedicated _To the Dead_. As they left through one of the broad, elaborate archways, Eren lingered to run his fingers along the soft gray stone, looking closely, admiringly, up at entablature and simple reliefs as the light caught his face and the breeze moved hair from his wide, wondering gaze. After a moment he realized Levi was watching; he twitched back his hand, blushing and flustered anew, like a child caught in the supermarket looking with his hands and not his eyes.

Levi raised his brows, standing with hands in his pockets just off to the side outside the cemetery.

“I love stuff like this,” Eren mumbled, embarrassed, and yet utterly unapologetic, his eyes burning bright. There was no question why; it inspired him. Stoked the flames of his creativity. Levi had read that manuscript of his, the non-harlequin, the one he was supposed to be working on here. No doubt a place like this inspired him. Writers. Such classically romantic creatures by nature.

Late-night Yelp-recommended bistro. _Eat here_. Loud music. Cocooned in the velvety roar of French voices. Split tab. French bar run in Montmartre to get French drunk, French whiskey and an absinthe Laura Palmer, the lights of the city caught like a wildfire in Eren’s owl eyes, laughter like the polar opposite of that jaded, frustrated kid Levi had stumbled into at a hotel in D.C. _If I were Hemingway_ … Tipsy rambling, Levi about wild times with Erwin and Hanji back in his twenties, going to an agent meeting hungover, an evening out with Eren’s mom — Eren, an hour-long tangential speech about the project he was bound by ultimatum to work on while in the city of lights. And Levi listened. And Levi nodded, and added comments when it seemed right, and Levi threw back a shot and tore himself in two between professional book reader’s ear and heeding the way there was still a shadow of self-doubt in Eren’s eyes even as he glowed with the same inexplicable writer’s magic as Carla had had.

Eggs and co., _Hangover breakfast here_. “Do you want to do the real tourist thing? More sightseeing?” Levi asked.

Eren shrugged, glancing up from his breakfast. “Do you?” Levi knew the sharp, distracted look in his eyes. Bottled intensity. Avoidant not out of dissatisfaction with company but chasing thoughts like a medium chasing ghosts. Inspiration. He was ready. Hole up and write. Good. Levi was not opposed to amusing himself. He’d expended more than enough sociability yesterday; he needed to recharge. And it was the ultimatum, anyway. _The only thing you’re allowed to work on is the ‘Wisteria’ series_.

“Day for ourselves?” Levi suggested instead.

Eren nodded eagerly.

While he was still getting ready to head out, hurrying to Google search the perfect café to settle in to write, Levi left the flat. Hands in the pockets of his coat, cool spring breeze running its fingers through his hair, just moving idly through the current of life in the city. He got lost on accident in Le Marais, circling the same medieval buildings over and over before finally finding his way. Somehow helped another tourist who could not figure out where she and her girlfriends were headed. Found himself at an art museum standing in the rustling quiet, not quite sure how long he stood staring at this painting or that sculpture. Pretty sure a young Italian woman tried to flirt with him after he’d murmured, “Excuse me,” as he passed her. “This one is my favorite,” she said under the stretch of an original restored Degas and somehow they had a conversation about random things and it didn’t even matter that he didn’t know her and really didn’t care, because nothing mattered in Paris and that was okay.

Being alone at home was like being a small but necessary part of the world’s natural order. To be alone in New York was to disappear, everyone doing everything everywhere while he sort of faded into the seats of the subway, moved like a shadow past garbage-lined streets and narrow turn-of-the-century townhouses turned apartments and guest houses. Being alone in Paris was very different from both of those things.

Paris itself made him feel foreign to himself — not in a bad way, but a comforting, peaceful dissociation — nameless, faceless. Something liberating and special to just sort of exist syncopated with the clockwork of the city, within yet outside of it. To escape the universe as it knew him for a short time, anonymous and untroubled, slipping between time and timelessness as cars rushed along and people flowed by and the past merged with the present at every corner, sleek upscale buildings married to old, old architecture. At home, people. In New York, strangers. In Paris, humans.

“So what do you want?” Eren asked, after he finally found Levi at the farmer’s market in which they’d agreed to meet up later in the day as the sun drifted away in the west and the city cooled in its wake. _What do you want_. Always so slightly cold and crabby when yanked from his writer’s focus too soon, hands shoved in his pockets and satchel bag bumping against his hip. It was kind of endearing but also a little exasperating. And if Levi didn’t force him out to find dinner, he’d forget to eat like he’d forget to shower like he’d forget to sleep. Writers. Carla had been the same way now and again.   

“I don’t know,” Levi sighed, thumbing through foreign currency. “Lamb?”   

“Woo, getting fancy. Fish?”

“Ratatouille.”

“Pff. Let’s just go rustic. Like, roast and potatoes and stuff.”  

“Sure. I saw a wine place on the way back, we can pick up some more red.”

 _Be a good man to someone else_.

They both worked. Eren, setting up camp on the sofa with the terrace doors cracked for the night air. Levi, in the bedroom with the latest hard copy manuscript of a query Petra had given him to review. One of them darting into the kitchen now and again to check the vegetables, the boiling potatoes, the darkening roast. Pizzicato of laptop keys. Whisper of turning pages. They ate in silence, clink of silverware, Levi washed the dishes and leaned in the narrow kitchen doorway, drying the last plate, watching Eren with his reading glasses and his thumb at his mouth where he’d forgotten he’d been running it along his lower lip, those owl eyes a bit daunting in their fierce focus on his laptop screen. Two skipping little sun flares framed in dark lashes, his silhouette framed by the dying light of sunset as it crept through the jumbled cityscape.

“Open the wine,” Levi said.

“Hold on,” Eren snapped without looking up. Levi opened the wine anyway, poured himself half a glass lowball from the top cupboard.

“I’m almost done,” Eren said after a moment, delayed, more dutifully apologetic for how inconvenienced he’d sounded even if taking a second from his work to speak actually was an inconvenience at the moment.

Levi left him a glass. Eren was too deep into his project not to burn him if he got too close or roused the flames. Levi knew that. It was almost midnight and he was drowsy from the wine and the reading when, out on the sofa, Eren finally made a little movement like someone stirring from a deep sleep, stretched his whole frame in a long, shuddering sigh. A gentle hush flowed through the place like the breeze, the tension of his concentration tangibly absent from the quiet. Rustle of movement, creak of the sofa. And then he was in the bedroom doorway, pouting a little, drained but wilted with a delicious relief. The skin around his eyes was pale and weary from strain, left him looking a little dazed and astonished by reality now that he’d returned to it.

He hesitated only a moment before he crept in and crawled easily onto the bed, without a word, just a guilty little glance. Levi rolled over onto his back and let Eren curl up into him, into a wine red kiss. Lazy tangle. Unspoken concession. _You want to do it? Yeah._ Nudge of tongue, parting lips. He’d gutted himself writing all day. Wore himself out. Levi did the same during developmental edits; he understood how satisfying it was to put aside a manuscript and just give in to the exhaustion. Numb and empty-headed, Eren just gave in to the pleasure, wanted to be taken as much as Levi wanted to take him for the haunting flicker of his eyes, the tired, apologetic smiles that danced across his mouth, so fragile and yielding in that way that made Levi want to crush him but cherish him at the same time for his vicious martyrdom and pragmatic magnetism. _Want me_ , he begged with his body, with the way his chuckles dissolved into bitten-back groans. _I fucking do_ , Levi’s gnawing kisses confessed.

Fingers tangling in messy hair, feline arch and shiver under wandering hands. Slow and lazy sex, drained and drowsy sex. Swirl of thumbs on bare chest. Rolling hips and forgetting to choke back moans, gasps, grimaces of delight. Eren’s hands twisted where he’d flopped them above his head on the cool, clean pillows, fingers reaching, curling, fisting — nipples hard, teeth clenched, fever warm and soft even where muscle forged with bone in the firm stretch of his body, the rock of his body even as his body tightened and throbbed beneath Levi’s, around Levi’s —

“Ow, ow, ow, wait,” Eren sputtered, breathless, “my hip’s cramping — ”

“Okay, get comfortable and tell me when — ”

“Okay … go, go, I’m good … ”

 _Walk here. Write here. Fuck here_.

“My mom always says everyone smokes way too much in Paris,” Eren joked, voice ragged as he came out of the bathroom from cleaning up, slipped some clothes on and stretched his back post-orgasm in the dark of the bedroom. But then he paused abruptly, fell silent and motionless with arms drooping to fold behind his head, baggy sleeves and raised hands making the bottom of the ugly nineties sweater flirt with his navel.

Levi felt it, from the bed, body tingling — Eren’s fleeting lifelessness for the bruised shock he’d given himself.

“Said,” he corrected, and cleared his throat to signal they’d move on from that mistake without comment as he drifted off into the dark flat.

 _Stay here. Get French drunk here. Write at sunrise here, doors open, hot coffee, no worries, or whatever_.

And it was not sunrise, and it was not coffee, nor was it writing, but it was Eren on the terrace in a throw blanket smoking an after sex cigarette. Tousled hair and drowsy, distant eyes. _That_ was where the sunrise was, dull glow of dying fire.

And something in Levi suddenly felt very at peace.

He’d felt it a while ago — not the peace, but this unsettlingly serene cohesion, back when he’d first realized Eren was growing on him. Tonight it found him unprepared. Some strange balance, humming into place between them.

_Go to Europe with me?_

Where he was silent, Eren was music. He was stillness and Eren was wild. Aloof, watery moon — blazing, passionate sun. Eren was overwhelming sometimes, but God, whatever it was, there was something about him that magnetized Levi. That possessive, protective investment that Erwin had called _hard devotion_ and Eren called a _squish_. Good for him, Erwin had said. And it still surprised him, somehow.

Levi gazed transfixed, watching through his lashes where he leaned gently against one of the open terrace doors trying to keep his eyes open a little longer. There was something really thrilling about the spontaneity of it, Eren’s willingness to just say fuck it, I’m off to Europe for a few days. His fascination with the dreamy, old world and romantic experience of it. So Carla. Levi remembered when he’d been younger, been reading Rilke, and Rimbaud. Probably thought himself edgy and deep. Or maybe just liked the poets. That was Eren — wild-eyed, wild-souled. A whirlwind, a force of nature unfathomable and incontrovertible, and the fear in Levi that he would not be able to give Eren what he needed was suddenly more articulated than ever before. Sharp and icy in its polished clarity, a spear point poised at his soul.

 _I love you_. _I know_.

It still felt a little dangerous. Maybe it would always feel dangerous.

 _You can’t pin all this on me_ …

And that was true. He’d just been loath to admit he did it without meaning to. Deflected it before into worry that Eren wouldn’t be able to handle things, he was too immature, too naïve. Too innocent and full of hopeless hope. But maybe Levi was the same way. Maybe … 1992 Levi needed to grow the fuck up. 1992 Levi brutally determined to protect others from protecting himself, aching for love he couldn’t understand for proof that he wasn’t a total failure, a reject, a broken radio dial.

But Eren had his fingers on the dial of that radio in Levi, the one with the fuzzy stations, bursts of music now and again. And it was okay to let someone else turn the dial, so long as they knew when to change the station. So long as he _let them know_ when to change the station.

Levi stirred from his empty staring, leaned out onto the terrace to give Eren a tousle of the hair. His hand lingered at the crown of his head. The cherry of Eren’s cigarette glowed in the dark as he inhaled, tipped his head back and gave Levi a sleepy little smile.

* * *

“What the _fuck_ — ”

Eren slid his laptop away from his knees and across the bed as if it had bitten him, working in the bedroom tonight, penultimate night in Paris. And the expletive wasn’t really a request for explanation more than it was shock sluicing through him silvery and swift as adrenaline.

Levi looked in from the salon, lounging on the little sofa with feet propped up and a manuscript for work three-quarters of the way read on his lap. An acquisition piece, no red pen or mechanical pencil here, no brightly colored page tabs or Post-its or paper clips, just a binder clip and his iPhone on the dock with Spotify up and a look on his face like he was mildly reluctant to ask Eren what was wrong lest it be more than he had focus to share for.

Eren’s eyes swerved up in a wild way, heart falling through his chest before lurching to his throat. The cold tingle of ecstatic disbelief surged through him. For a moment he couldn’t move, just gawked at Levi through the open bedroom door. Mouth dry. Gut knotting in a blissful little shiver. A shout, crowding his mouth, but there was no breath with which to even choke on it —

_queries@writershouse.com <Subject: Re: Requested Materials – YA paranormal – Wisteria, CC: mmarie@paradigmrom.com>_

_Hello,_

_This is Nonny’s assistant. She loves the book and will be e-mailing shortly with offer of representation! Thanks_

_Asher, Assistant Editor_

Levi slapped the manuscript down on the sofa and leaned forward against his knees, fingers laced idly, to squint through reading glasses as Eren held out the laptop for him to read the e-mail.

_Loves the book!_

Eyes, darting word to word. Quiet a moment. Still.

_Offer of representation!_

Levi leaned back again with feet planted on the carpet, stretching his arms out to prop on the back of the sofa as he smirked faintly, that patented cool guy Levi Ackerman smirk that always made Eren blush like an idiot.

“Well, look at that,” he muttered, with a marked lack of surprise as if to say, _Told you_. 

Eren shut his laptop and put it down on Levi’s manuscript to pace around the flat, nerves alight. Levi watched from the corner of his eye as he gently lifted the laptop to retrieve his work, lay it on top where it wouldn’t get folded or messy.

“Sorry, sorry,” Eren said, barely able to form the words. He was breathless. Restless. Weightless. His face was on fire and he really wanted to laugh, to smile at least, but he was stuck somewhere wide-eyed and dazed between thrilled to laughter and thrilled to tears. Frantic in a buzzing, dumbfounded way.

 _Representation_ …

Eren stopped short between Levi and the television, spinning to give him a horrified look of remorse. “I’m so sorry,” he sputtered. “I didn’t send a query to that friend of yours, because I was pissed at you and I couldn’t — I mean, I thought maybe I’d waited too long — ”

“It’s fine, Eren. No hard feelings. I told him you weren’t ready to send yet.”

“ — and I just sent a batch of queries out like, last month, finally, and I was going to query him after, I just wanted to see if I got bites elsewhere — ”

“You wanted to see if you’re good enough.”

Eren stopped short, heart thudding hollow for a moment. He picked at the seam of his pants pocket. Voice small and pathetic, he finally confessed, “Yeah.” 

Levi shrugged, nodded. He knew already. He hadn’t even needed to make him say it. “Well, it seems legit,” he said with a cat-eyed glance and that God damn attractive perk of the mouth. Limp but meaningful. As if to say, _Do I have to make you say it again?_ “Man, it’s almost like I’m good at my job.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Eren grumbled through a flustered, flattered pout. Shock. That was what he was feeling. Shock and exhilaration, terror and excitement at once. Delicious adrenaline. _Representation_. _Loves the book_.

Levi’s eyes hung on him, heated and intent.

“What?” Eren murmured.

Levi shrugged and shook his head at the same time, knee bouncing gently.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Eren returned the stare from across the small salon with his breath still shivering on his lower lip. He really didn’t have to ask because the friction of familiar lust was blooming in the air like static electricity. But he kind of wanted to hear the answer.

Levi’s eyes hung on him, heated and impenitent. That untamed force of feeling of his, raw and distilled desire that needed no frills, no accoutrements, no explanation and no guidelines. Little twitch of a smirk as if to say, _Come on, really?_

“I don’t know, I’m just really turned on all of a sudden,” he did say aloud, slyly, like it was something secret and forbidden, some heist for which the two of them were successful partners. Like he knew, after all these months, how much it turned Eren on to be told he turned him on.

 _The best way to show how I feel_ …

“What, me being excited?” Eren teased. Because it did. It did turn him on to hear he turned Levi on. In his head, he imagined it would be romantic to pop champagne and have slow, passionate sex to celebrate a manuscript request from such a prestigious, successful agency. Yeah, pop champagne, get some candles going, go slow in bed with trailing fingertips and long, tender kisses, some good music on low in the salon, eye contact and sweet nothings. But that type of intimacy was not theirs; Eren knew that. And he loved it. Theirs was electricity. Theirs was the bare bones of feeling, innocence and instinct and simple want. Their own language of glances, ancestry of that first night after the funeral, chemistry sparking like two chips of flint. That sweet and simple understanding of what they both wanted and what they had. Non-romantic not-boyfriend. _Lovers_.

Levi nodded, slowly.

Eren nodded, too, shrank back a step or two into the bedroom doorway, a giddy little grin unfolding across his face — for which part of the last five minutes, he didn’t know. He didn’t care.

On the way to the bedroom door, Levi slid his arm around Eren’s waist, fingers tickling up under the hem of his T-shirt on the other side, flirting with his hip, the peek of boxer brief waistband. And Eren’s arms closed around Levi’s shoulders, his neck, flustered and blushing furiously as Levi’s mouth found his to know again that even after everything — _I love you, I know_ — this would still be the same, this was unchanged and unthreatened. Levi gave a little hoist, though the size difference wasn’t enough to make it anything more than toes brushing the floor, balance lost at the edge of the bed and Eren’s fingers tightening to pull Levi down with him.

* * *

The clock on the bed stand read a quarter to five in the morning, but Paris was far from settled. Still whispering, and rustling, life shivering about in the timelessness before dawn. And Eren loved that Levi let him keep the French doors cracked even though it was a little chilly at night — his mom had done that when they were here seven years ago, said she just wanted to hear Paris, smell Paris, let Paris fill the room with them — and lying beside Levi, Eren woke up and looked at the clock and he just could not fall back asleep.

He made coffee, as quietly as he could. Clink of spoon against ceramic, creak of the bathroom door as he snuck in to pee before pulling on a big sweater and going out to the terrace. It didn’t work.

“Can I join you?” Levi asked from the terrace doors, voice groggy and gravelly.

Eren nodded, tipping his head back to say, “Get a cup of coffee.” 

Levi came back with a cup of coffee and two blankets, one of which he tossed at Eren to bundle up in as they sat in the simplest of silences, watching the silver of coming morning light turn the sky a pearly gray. A shared quiet, no words needed. Hum of coexistence.

_I love you._

_I’ve known_.

It hollowed Eren out in a dizzying way, to consciously feel himself falling when he hadn’t thought he would. Hadn’t thought he could or _should_.

But, well, it was happening. It _had_ happened. Hadn’t it? And if falling in love felt like falling apart, then yes, he’d fallen. Reckless and wild, he’d fallen.

“Hey … ” he murmured.

“Hmm?” Levi hummed around a sip of coffee.

“I’m really glad you’re here with me.”

That gave Levi a short pause, some cousin of concern like embarrassed satisfaction. “Eren … ”

“No, I mean, not sappy and stuff.” Eren shifted around a little, flapping the blanket around so that it draped across his lap and legs. “Just — I don’t know, I’m glad things can be like this. My mom would like it, that you and I are getting along.”

“Getting along,” Levi echoed with a wry, squinting smile.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 _I love you. I know_.

Levi shrugged limply. “I don’t think we have to. Do you?”

Eren shrugged back. He wasn’t sure. On one hand, he didn’t think they did. It was simple: Levi knew that Eren was in love with him, and he was okay with it, and everything Eren had thought about romance was false. Okay, that wasn’t a simple thing; that would take some late-night thinking, lying in bed staring at the wall. But on the other hand, he was worried that not talking about it risked a lack of closure, of reconciliation with the truth.

“I’m sorry I’m romantic and don’t realize it,” he murmured.

Levi chuckled without sound, a little tip of the head and half-smile. “Eren. It’s fine. Don’t … ever apologize for being the way you are. You’re just a huge sap. That’s all.”

“Squish,” Eren whispered, and Levi really laughed this time, rolled his head from one shoulder to the other like his neck was stiff.

“Yeah. Squish.”

“Can I say it?”

“Say what?”

“That I love you.”

Levi flashed him a glance that didn’t seem meant to be seen, repentant flicker of the eyes away. He chuckled again, but this was more like a gentle scoff. “Well, you just said it, so … ”

“Sorry.”

“Eren, I’m teasing. You can say it. You don’t have to ask every time.”

“You’ll tell me.”

“I’ll tell you.”

“I love you,” Eren said again, this time in barely a whisper. Down below the terrace, on the street, someone rode by on a bicycle. He was still so dazed by the feel of the words. They felt so sweet and right on his tongue and he wanted to keep saying them until he was no longer afraid he’d choke on them — _I love you_ — _I know_ —

“But it doesn’t really matter.” He cleared his throat, took a sip of coffee for good measure. “You’re going to New York.”

Going to New York, and where was he going to stay? Okay, his mom’s.  _Home_. Levi was going to be gone from his life again, just like that, just like it used to be, and he was going to have nothing. He wouldn’t have his mom. He wouldn’t have Levi. He wouldn’t have anything that made things feel like they were okay …

“I fucking hate New York,” Levi grumbled, hunching lower into the blanket around his shoulders. “I’ve tried it already. I’m not going. It’s not even that big of a raise.”

Something in Eren’s chest bottomed out in a way that made his head spin as he looked to Levi with a wild sort of relief, heart leaping to his throat.

After a moment, Levi met his gaze, his face soft even for the thin line of his mouth and the sweet, stoic stillness of his stare. Little perk of the mouth as if to say, _Sorry I scared you_.

“Fuck,” Eren breathed, swallowing hard against the relief that tightened up his throat and stung at the backs of his eyes. “Fuck,” he said again, looking out away from the balcony so maybe Levi couldn’t see how selfishly excited he was to hear that.  _Not selling the house_ … _what if you want to go back?_ … _I said stay as long as you need to, didn’t I?_ Neither of them wanted to ask it. He could feel that.

“Where do we go from here?” Eren asked instead.

Levi hunched his shoulder up against a yawn. “Eren, we’ve talked about this a million times … ”

“I know, but it’s different now. Like, it’s more important.”

Levi was quiet at first. “You’re right.” There was another pause. Finally, he murmured, “I want you in my life.”

It was flat, cautious, almost uncertain. But Eren knew what it was; it was his way of loving. Purely unromantic and utterly personal. Devotion. His gray eyes drifted over to him, pinning him in place like a butterfly behind glass.

“I want to take care of you,” he said. “We just need to talk to each other. And I — ” He pressed his mouth in a thin line, eyes sharp. “It’s a spectrum, you know? Grey-romantic. Some days I feel _really_ averse to things. Other days, it’s like, I can suck it up. I’m okay giving it. I just hate receiving it. It’s complicated and there’s nothing that will make it easy to understand. I’m trying to understand it, still. I’m conscious of that. I’ll _tell_ you, though. And you _have_ to tell me if things get hard for you.”

“I know.”

“Not going to lie, I think it’s going to be fucking rough sometimes.”

“Oh, trust me, I expect that. It’s you.” Eren flinched playfully at Levi’s curt little glance, laughing into his coffee cup. “I mean, and _me_. We’re not exactly an uneventful match.”

Levi smiled wryly, appreciative of that in his not indifferent indifference. “Before we had sex last night,” he hummed, still smiling that faint, cat-eyed smile. “Were you analyzing again? Worrying about my comfort? If I was forcing it?”

Eren shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Don’t do that,” Levi said, firmly. No ifs, ands, or buts. He sighed, squinting out at the bluing sky. Not really asking, just repeating, to make the words more real, maybe, he echoed, “Where do we go from here … ”

Eren didn’t have a real answer. And it sort of felt better that way.

“I’m sorry I fucked up,” he said anyway. He’d been meaning to say it for the last few weeks. He’d been meaning to, and he just couldn’t bring himself to in case it knocked everything off balance again. Reminded Levi this was the one thing he’d said not to do. _Don’t fall in love_ … “I broke the rule. I tried so hard not to. And I told you, I told you I could handle it, and I’m going to, I’m going to deal with it, it’s not your responsibility. But I love you and I want to and I’m going to no matter what.”

Lashes lowered on cool eyes, Levi chuckled faintly. “Yeah,” he husked. “You’re stubborn that way, huh?” 

“I think about you all the time.” Eren’s face was flushed maybe for the kiss of early morning air, maybe just from the emotion cinching up his chest. “I’m always worried about how you’re feeling, what you need, what you want. I want to know everything about you. I want to make you smile. I want to make you laugh. Sometimes I just stare at you and I have no idea how I got so lucky and … I don’t know, I just want to be your  _moment_.”

Levi’s brow knotted; a weary little smile pinched at his mouth. “What?”

“Your moment,” Eren said again. “Something that sticks with you no matter what, something that comes in flashes. Not routine. Not history. Not a conscious thought or a memory, which really, you know, is just a collage of moments that bleed and blur together. I want to be a  _moment_. That image that flashes, those split-second freeze frames of life you’ll never forget. I … want to be a moment that makes you happy when it flashes across your mind, whatever that happiness is for you.” He took a slow breath, a sheepish smile curling at the corners of his mouth as he shook his head and looked away. “Sorry. I’m such a God damn writer.”

Levi nodded slowly, smiling his own soft twist of a smile. “Yeah,” he murmured in agreement. “And you finally figured out what it means to be romantic, Eren. Congrats.”

“Oh my God,” Eren muttered through an embarrassed laugh, rolling his eyes —

“You make me happy.”

Eren fell still, frowning out over the edge of the terrace.  

“Do I make you happy?” Levi asked.

 _I love you. I know_.

“Yes,” Eren whispered, and finally looked over with a flicker of the lashes.

Levi nodded. He waved his free hand around, voice thick with feeling as he murmured, “Then what does any of this romance, no-romance shit matter?” He wiggled back into his blanket, drumming a finger on the coffee cup. He twisted his tongue from one side of his mouth to the other, searching for the words. Finally, toying with a loose thread on the blanket, he mumbled, “It’s like I’m colorblind.”

Eren blinked a few times. “What?”

“Let’s say I’m colorblind, and you’re not,” Levi said slowly, and it was so endearing, hurt Eren’s heart in the most blissful of ways, that stubborn vulnerability of his. He moved his cup as if to drink, but stopped, just let the steam slither along his face. “I’d see shades of gray, or something, where you’d see bright colors. The experience wouldn’t be the same even though we’re looking at the same thing. So — well, yeah. Don’t apologize for seeing colors, Eren, and I won’t feel bad for seeing gray. We just have to remember not to get irritated with each other when we’re looking at the same thing but don’t  _see_ the same thing.” 

 _I love you_.

 _I know_.

“Oh … ” Eren breathed. Levi’s glance danced up to him, little lift of a brow. Eren shook his head, blushing faintly, with a meek grin. “Are you sure  _you’re_ not the romance novelist?” he teased.

Another humming silence settled on the terrace. It was slightly overcast, dragging sunrise out. The railing of the terrace was still dew-damp as Eren propped his feet up against it. His coffee had gone lukewarm. His book had an offer of representation and he was sitting in Paris with Levi motherfucking Ackerman and he scoffed, “But why would anyone fall in love with someone who can’t love them back?”

Levi lifted his head from where he’d leaned back with his eyes closed, glancing over like he wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or not.

“I don’t know,” Eren went on quickly. “I guess, all these months … you’re right. Jean was right. Love isn’t something that you can make happen with a pattern. And it super fucking _is_  just a fancy way of saying ‘I’m afraid to let you in,’ isn't it? So why _wouldn’t_ you fall in love with someone? Why does it matter if they love you back or not?”

“Eren … ”

“I want to be with you, too,” Eren husked, finally looking over at him. “I told you before, I don’t care. I want to be with you. You know, it’s just — our relationship. It is what it is. Because it’s ours. And, honestly, Levi? It’s just one of the many parts of you I’ve fallen in love with.”

Levi gawked at him, hollowed out — afraid almost, reluctant, hesitant, eyes dark. Eren’s chest tightened; a dull horror tried to creep through him, dreading it was the wrong thing to say, and yet not regretting it. Standing his ground with it.

Levi lifted his coffee cup up between them. Eren frowned, confused. But then he realized — he lifted his mug to tap Levi’s in a little toast, frown dissipating into a thread of laughter. Levi smiled back at him, hair shifting along his brow in the weak morning wind, as he followed Eren’s lead and lifted his cup to his lips for a long sip.

 _I love you. I know_. And Armin and Mikasa loved him, yes. His mother had loved him, of course. Jean maybe loved him in some way or another. But somewhere between family and friend and boyfriend, Levi loved him. He loved him in his own weird way. Whatever it was. Devotion, coexistence. And it was the purest, most uncomplicated thing Eren had felt in a long time —

“Do you see a color right now?” Levi murmured.

Eren blushed, realizing he’d been staring intently, dragging his teeth along his lower lip. Just drunk on the moment. Levi beside him on a terrace in Paris, still after-sex soft and sleepy even though they’d slept a bit in between. Levi’s ghosting smile, his hooded eyes, the dark hair dancing in and out of his face now and again. For a moment, Eren was flustered, sheepish, apologetic. But then he relaxed. He wilted, a shy smile pulling at his mouth.

He nodded slowly. He saw color. He felt it. It was red. Deep, vibrant, luscious red. It just felt so natural to look at Levi, and smile. And maybe he was a pretty good shade of gray — soft and silky, or something, gray like morning fog, or slate like the water on a lovely overcast day — because it seemed like it felt natural to Levi to look over at him and smile back.

 

**END.**


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